


How Hard Can You [Love] Me?

by syrensoul_red



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Consent Issues, Dark Character, Dark Magic, Don't stop Regal Believing, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evil Queen | Regina Mills Being an Asshole, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Hookless does not get a glowing review either, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied Consent, Magical restraints, Much words, No seriously I do not like the Constipated Pinecone, Now with added fluff, Oh look - a portal!, Operation Mongoose, Porn with Feelings, Power Play, Season 4A, Some Humor, Swan-Mills Family, Sweet/Hot, The joys of canon divergence, Violence against Gold, Would you like some tropes with that?, anti-OutlawQueen, cinnamon rolls too pure, empanadas vs pastelillos, implied magic!cock, just so much violence against him, magic!cock is no longer just implied, the fluffiest trashbag, the smuttiest smut ever to smut if ever a smut there was, very light anal play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 157,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4028881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrensoul_red/pseuds/syrensoul_red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A SwanQueen re-imagining of <b>4x10-4x12</b>, where the Snow Queen's Shattered Sight curse hits and Regina becomes the Evil Queen again for just a little while. </p><p>Set soon after <i><b><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3798292/chapters/8458396"> Normal [Monsters]</a></b></i>, and while I don't think it's entirely necessary to have read that first - hey, it could be fun! This is a little darker, and maybe a little dirtier. Best to presume spoilers for all of 4a.</p><p>
  <i>"In the quietness of stone and woods, Emma had found solace and fortitude; in the cathedral of a mouth, something like benediction. All day it echoed - when she stood in front of the ice wall, or helped Elsa with her sister’s bespelled necklace - her body twinged, ached pleasantly; reminded her of time spent with the woman who never stopped surprising her. Regina Mills."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read [Normal [Monsters]](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3798292/chapters/8458396), or haven't read it in a while, what you really need to know is this:  
> Regina helped Emma get her magic under control after the Snow Queen put the whammy on her, not Elsa as in canon. This led to a... not insignificant dalliance between them? Mutual appreciation of each others' nude aethetics? A night of hot girl-on-girl action? Yes, yes all of these.
> 
> And here we are.
> 
> (So, somehow this chapter got deleted -- very helpful. Sorry to all of you who caught this in the interim, and the 20 or so comments I lost... #writerslyf. I am not good at things.)

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_1\. [ When it hurts ]_ **

A roiling purple cloud of dark magic, filled with shattered glass and ominous terror; the need for a hero - or several - to protect a town of previously make-believe people _._ As Emma ran down the deserted main street to the library and into the catacombs below, on the off-chance she could stop Elsa from bringing down the entire structure on them, she thought, _Just your typical magical hijinks in Storybrooke..._

Her day had started so promisingly, curse aside, in a vault far from any of this: A warmer place, hotter; painted with sweat and promises, wrapped in the silk of _more…_ and _deeper…_ and _There…_ In the quietness of stone and woods, Emma had found solace and fortitude; in the cathedral of a mouth, something like benediction.

All day it echoed - when she stood in front of the ice wall, or helped Elsa with her sister’s bespelled necklace - her body twinged, ached pleasantly; reminded her of time spent with the woman who never stopped surprising her.

_Regina Mills._

They still fought; of course they did: A cover against her sharp-eyed parents, or maybe a little snide retribution for the mention of Robin Hood – Emma wasn’t proud of that. But in Regina’s presence, in the secret touch of her hand when Emma hugged their son goodbye, she felt solid and able and - maybe, yes, even a little _heroic_.

That was what Emma blamed for her uncharacteristic hope when Elsa accidentally wished Anna into existence. It was why she relaxed into frivolous warmth and cruel promises of _maybe_ ; the nanosecond nature of it, before they turned back to Granny’s and found the fairies gone and everything destroyed.

A feeling then more bitterly familiar: Crushing disappointment.

Because Emma had learned, long before she came to Storybrooke, that life was nothing like fairy tales. At least, not the gentrified versions. At best her life had been Grimm; at worst plotlessly brutal, with no thought to character development than beating her down. She had walked a path of lost children, met the shadows that lurked in the night; apparently once given her love to a Snow Witch who now twisted, devoured and destroyed.

This was her arc. She rose and fell with it.

Hollowed and bleak then, with Regina and Henry gone to hide, Emma was jolted by a sudden need; the strange pull of her parents like an outflung hand at the edge of darkness. She hadn’t meant to be _that girl_ ; never needed, never wanted - but then, she’d never had parents to run to before.

If Emma accepted she was the Savior -- and she had, if not in Neverland then certainly yesterday with Regina -- maybe it was time she accepted the fact that she was no longer an orphan. Things had changed. She couldn’t do this alone; it sometimes felt like she couldn’t do it at all.

But her parents were heroes.

Fairy tales might not be true, but that had to count for something.

*

The curse rolled over Storybrooke’s jail during their exchange of niceties and reintroductions to old friends - Emma felt it, knew they had little time. Her magic unspooled, tugged like a thread, the points of two magnets tore at her insides and she knew Elsa felt it too. Emma shook her nervous hands, jumped on booted feet.

“Wait. What?” Anna, confused. “How can she be your daughter?”

“It’s a long story; once we survive this curse I’ll be happy to tell you all about it,” Emma rushed her. Then, to her parents: “The plan? What’s the plan?”

Mary Margaret shook a set of jailhouse keys, nodded her head at the cells behind them. “This is the plan.”

_“What?”_

As Regina had said of an earlier idea: This was hardly an elegant solution. _Nothing wrong with brute force if it works_ \-- But this time it didn’t, not for Emma, not at all. “I’m not locking you in there.”

“Yes, you have to,” Mary Margaret’s arm outstretched as she stepped into the cell.

David walked into the adjoining one. “We won’t be able to hurt anyone from in here.”

When Emma wouldn’t move, her mother urged, “Take the keys, Emma...”

Her skin stretched tight on her bones, filigree cracks stung with welled emotion, acidic and unmanageable. The dam of her mouth burst from it, words spilled everywhere: “I don’t know what’s gonna happen, I don’t know how long it’s gonna last, I don’t know what’s gonna happen to me, I mean, what if... what if you starve to death in there--”

“No, Emma.” Mary Margaret’s unwavering hope, the blind faith of her. “You’re gonna fix this thing, and then you’re gonna come back and save us.”

Emma barely grasped what was said next, just a string of buzzwords: _Trust; Save us; We believe in you; Your Specialness..._ When they handed over her brother, this tiny, vulnerable ball of talcum powder and expectations, Emma broke apart; tore at scars borne from not knowing how to adult, never having been taught, wanting none of this.

What did she have to offer a near-newborn child? A baby who, not seventy-two hours earlier, had helped drive her to the edge of magical destruction? If not for Regina--

_Regina…_

The dark-haired woman would expect more of her than this. Emma Swan was the Savior, and the Savior didn’t get to choose how or when or with whom her role applied. Regina burnt through her veins, swelled beneath her ribs, kicked a proper rhythm into Emma’s foundering heart. _Suck it up, princess…_

So she did. Brother tight in her arms, Emma locked the cell doors and prepared for the shattered tide to crash.

“You have wonderful parents, Emma.”

“ _I know_.”

“Swan - a word…?”

It blindsided her; Emma hadn’t expected Hook to be there, wanted to say _No_. This wasn’t the time for farewell speeches, at least not the kind he expected. _Look, Killian – There’s someone else, and I know you might die tonight, but I’m really only thinking about her…_

Instead she asked, “Elsa, can you hold my brother?”

In a corner away from everyone, she snapped: “What are you doing here? You know what’s about to happen.”

“Aye. I know, I just needed to see you.” He gazed at her so imploringly that Emma regretted not telling him sooner, in that old mansion hall. “Before I chained myself to the dock for the protection of all. I needed to see you one more time.”

Emma didn’t want to cry; the tears weren’t even for him, they simply fell. This day had shattered her.

“Killian, I’m not... a tearful goodbye kiss person…” She sobbed, the Savior who felt like a coward when he reached for her and she turned her face away.

Hook’s lips hit her wet cheek and froze there, hands stilled in her hair. He breathed her in deeply, exhaled her in almost a sigh. Emma felt the finality of it, the stiff resolve when he stepped away, like he’d come for confirmation of something and now he had it. She whispered _“I’m sorry…”_ so that only he could hear.

The pirate nodded once; bowed his head and muttered, “Goodbye…”

It wasn’t the way Emma had wanted it to happen, but it was done. As he left, she put her fingers to her lips, ghosted the memory of Regina’s mouth; felt a quick flicker of _what is she to me? -_ before going back to her family.

The aching calm before horror; the suffocating crush of it made it hard for Emma to breathe, nearly impossible to talk, just wordless communication between she and Mary Margaret: _I don’t think I can do this. Yes I know I have to do this. I love you, mom._

“Here it comes…”

Mary Margaret breathed stiltedly; her husband reached through the bars and held her hand. The tinkle of glass as it came through the ceiling exhaust seemed deceptively delicate. And then the wind.

Emma curled her body around her baby brother.

Hell rained down on them.

*****

****

**_2\. [ It hurts because ]_ **

Hope speeches exhausted, the only thing left for Regina to do was get Henry safe and lock herself away. She drove her car far into the woods and abandoned it there -- _If I escape my vault, if I hurt someone, there will be nothing left of me…_

There was an extra chill to the air as she hiked back to Robin Hood’s broken camp for her son; the bite of approaching nightfall, though the trees were so thick here they hid the Snow Bitch’s voluminous, angry cloud. Still, Regina felt it.

She feared it.

A persistent voice in her head strung her fears together like ghoulish bunting, a celebration of self-doubt and terror -- _It has taken so long to get here; I am not whole yet; I am not stable. If I lose these parts how will I find them again? Who will be left? What if Henry sees me as I was? What if Emma—;_ on and on and over again, in a way Regina had never experienced before. But then, she’d never had so much to lose.

Not until Emma Swan.

The woman had given her so much _life,_ without knowing or meaning to. She’d given her Henry, the most precious gift Regina had. But it was more than that. She irritated and antagonised and fought her, made everything Regina did bigger and harder than it was, made her… _feel_ things.

Emma Swan had restarted the world - not just by breaking Regina’s curse. She had reminded her why the flow of time was important. That it didn’t just decay and ruin and break down, it also rebuilt, grew and healed.

_That will all be taken away._

The part she struggled with now was that they had been apart for hours but it felt like days. It made no sense; it was ridiculous, childish - a thought for a teenager, not a grown woman. She had disliked _Miss Swan_ far longer than she had… _not_ -disliked her. A few more hours meant nothing.

But a knot of heat coiled low in Regina’s belly, put pressure on the ache in her thighs that had nothing to do with the uneven ground she hiked across; a heavy rope tied to something she usually kept outside herself. Emma had twisted it there last night, with slick hands and a wet tongue; a merchant’s mouth, skilful and misleading. All day she had tried to untangle it. All day she had failed.

Regina felt bound to Emma Swan in a way that constricted her throat, chafed inside her skin. All she wanted to do was hold tight to her bow-string body, the muscle and give of it and _press in_ until the very last second, when everything shattered away.

It made her short-tempered and surly, and Regina had sniped and spat her way through the day because it was habitual, but it no longer felt _right._ Her final pointed remark at Granny’s Diner - _I should know better than to trust blondes by now_ – hadn’t raised a response from Emma but she regretted it.

_What if that is the last thing I say to her before I disappear?_

As Regina neared the clearing at the edge of Hood’s forest base, the trees started to thin. The sky was unnaturally dark; she was running out of time. She needed Henry. He had been safe with Hood’s rogues’ gallery while they thought they could stop the curse, but now she had to get him as far away from everyone as possible.

_Including me._

The thought of hurting her son ripped through Regina again, left her aching and bloodied. It drove her on, faster, despite her tension at seeing Robin.

That morning they had come to warn him about the curse and his expression had been unbearably smug, arrogant, as though Regina had come for _him;_ to apologise for abandoning him at her vault maybe, or to beg. Admittedly, she had felt her palm surge with magic, the first crackle and hiss of a fireball.

But their sons didn’t need to see her lose control. No one did. Regina wanted Robin Hood out of her life - not necessarily dead. She had clenched her burning fist, set her jaw and delivered the news tightly; ignored Hood’s advances and made it glaringly clear that this muted space was all she had to offer.

Now at least she would see Henry again. Protect him one last time. _My precious boy._

She entered the deserted camp in a rush, then halted. The broadening lines of Henry’s back, hunched where he sat on a log in the dismantled camp, reminded Regina how fast he was growing. All too soon he would be a young man, embarrassed to be called her boy.

These last few years would be fleeting, needed to be treasured -- _What if I don’t come back? What if I miss everything?_ Regina swallowed black-coal despair into diamonds that glittered behind her eyes; his name wrenched from her throat: “Henry!”

He turned at her voice, shouted “ _Mom!” -_ Will Scarlet sprawled lazily beside him. She was relieved, but wasted no time on the thief.

Henry ran, paused just outside her thrown arms. “You… couldn’t stop her...”

Regina thought she’d hidden her tension behind her smile but of course not, never from her son. “Not yet. Emma and Elsa will keep fighting, but it’s time for us to go. We have to get you somewhere safe.” She took his hand, led him to enough open space to use her magic.

“Oh no, it was no problem,” Will Scarlet called after them. “It was my pleasure. You’re welcome, _your Majesty.”_

Regina ignored him; raised her hand in a flourish and poofed them away.

*

They arrived near the edge of town, far enough to avoid landing on panicked townspeople but close enough that they could walk. Regina never let go of Henry’s hand and he never tried to make her.

“Are we going home?”

Her heart ached at the word, glad he still thought of their house that way even though they had spent so many weeks in other places. “We’re going to the office at Town Hall. You’ll be safe there. The doors are thick and I can fill it with magic.”

“I’m not worried,” he said, and Regina believed him. She felt very differently, but loved him so much more for it.

“Mom,” Henry went on; warily, as though his next words were difficult to say or would be hard for her to hear. “…I found something, last night at the library, when we were looking for stuff about the Snow Queen.”

“What was it?” She didn’t have time to break her stride or look at him more carefully.

“It was a page. A story book page.”

“From your book?”

“No. From another one, just like mine. ”

Regina faltered, nearly broke her heel as she stopped them short, ankle twisted. “What do you mean? Henry, what other book?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Grandma and Grandpa wanted me to sleep but I wasn’t tired, so I thought maybe I could find something else, something for Operation Mongoose.” He shrugged, “I didn’t find anything, I mean, I’ve checked so many times… But then I went back to the fold-out and - it was just there, on my pillow.”

“Where is it? Can I see it?”

Henry hedged, but Regina was too distracted to realise; too nervous and excited to see. “It’s… At my grandparents’ house. But I can show you when all this is over.”

“I would like that, very much.” Regina squeezed his hand, felt the rumble of thunder and the ominous press of cloud over them and moved again, faster this time. _If I make it through alive; if any part of me is left that deserves a Happy Ending…_

At Town Hall, she waved her hand at locks and they hurried through doors of Council squabbles and jurisprudence, into the Mayor’s office. Regina tried to ignore the ways Snow had taken over, but everything felt slightly _frilly._ If she ever took her job back she would set it all on fire.

She pulled Henry’s arm as they entered the office and spun him around. “Henry, I am so sorry. I should have stayed focused on Operation Mongoose, but Robin Hood and--” _Emma Swan_ , the voice in her head continued. She sighed. “I-- I let my heart pull me elsewhere.”

Her son’s earnest face, the purest belief when he told her, “Operation Mongoose is not over. We’re gonna find the Author - you _will_ be happy.”

She tried not to disagree but the reality of the situation weighed so heavily it bent her spine. “First, we have to survive. Now listen to me carefully, Henry. I’m going to seal this place. You’re going to be locked in - but more importantly, _everyone_ else will be locked out.”

His stance, so regal when he said, “I understand.”

Regina’s lungs caught beneath the bars of her ribs; she rasped: “Don’t be scared” - but it was as much to herself as it was for him.

“I’m not, Mom. Emma and Elsa will fix this. _Have faith_.”

She wrapped his sweetness up in her arms and breathed him, held him so tightly; wished she could take this everywhere, take him everywhere; to never for a second be without his trusting face -- Just the two of them. _And maybe Emma._ “I wish I was as brave as you...”

Henry held her a second longer, then said into her shoulder, “Now go.” He gently pushed her back. “I’ll be okay.”

Regina needed more time, there was so much more to say; what if there was a plane of his face she hadn’t memorised—But thunder growled overhead and time was up.

“Really, go,” Henry begged.

She leaned in and cupped his chin, whispered “I love you,” with everything she had. She hoped it didn’t sound too much like goodbye.

“I love you, too.”

Desolate, panicked, she left him. Outside the glass doors, Regina drew her most powerful magic into a heart. It seemed only fitting.

Soon, she wouldn’t have one.

*

She re-appeared at her vault with moments to spare. The wind rose; thunder crashed over and over, an angry tide, monstrous.

In the smallest, most benign room she had, she hid herself away. A deep wave of magic followed in her wake, frothed and eddied; more than enough barriers to keep everyone out and hopefully, to hold her in.

Despite the comment she had made to Emma, there was no need for Regina to tie herself down. At least, not physically. The bonds of magic would be enough. As long as no one more powerful interfered, this would be where she went to pieces.

_Please don’t let me tear anyone else apart. Please let me find myself again._

There was a moment of calm that Regina shook and shivered into, strained and begged; wished on every star she had ever seen and dismissed as a thing of nonsense. Then roaring, as the curse forced its way in.

Shards of mirror fell thickly through the stone ceiling.

Regina Mills shattered.

*****

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It was obvious what had happened here, why she was trapped and by whom; Regina may have forgotten the logistics - through some sort of trickery - but the Savior was responsible. She knew because her name, Emma Swan, echoed through the empty halls of her memory; sometimes as a frantic hiss, sometimes in a mournful wail."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a LOT of darkness and angst in this section, while the next is just wall-to-wall (sometimes literally) explicit sexual activity.  
> I hope you enjoy the story parts anyway, and thank you all so much for your kind words and kudos so far.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_3\. [ You hold me tighter ]_ **

Emma’s parents tore strips from each other, and while the bars between them kept it verbal, she couldn’t bear to watch. It was like two kittens fighting with rabies. Her feelings on True Love and Happy Endings were naturally gutter-bound, and if she stayed, there would not be enough therapy in the world to pull them up again.

When Anna recalled the story of the Trolden Glass, Emma was relieved they had a plan. Elsa might be squeamish about killing the Ice Bitch, but she had been waiting for her shot since the interrogation room, when Snow Tits overloaded her magic and turned her life to shit.

 _Not to say positive things didn’t come from it_ , her mind parried.

Emma was forced to concede. In the playhouse of her memory, Regina Mills was splayed and needy, Emma’s fingers tight and wet inside her; the burning thrust of muscle as she pushed deeper, the woman’s red mouth parted with her name, _“Emma….”_

She closed her eyes against it, tongue on her dry lips – this was not the time. Baby Neal safe with Anna, Emma left the sisters to hug it out, escaped the suddenly cloying jail air for the cold street.

Outside, things had turned violent - and faintly ridiculous. Emma had never expected to see quite so much dwarf-on-dwarf brutality; but then, she had never expected Storybrooke. The crossbows were real enough, as was Granny’s shotgun. Emma the Sheriff tried to confiscate as many lethal weapons as she could, but Emma the Savior knew drastic action was needed.

When Elsa caught up, her face was bleak, tight-mouthed. Emma took her hand and squeezed it wordlessly as they followed the pull of magic down the street.

The Snow Queen’s presence throbbed in Emma’s chest like a bright red arrow on a digital map, making it easy to find her. The same must have been true of them, yet the witch seemed mildly surprised when she exited her ice cream store and saw them there. Emma took point; commanded, “Stop!” – and the woman did.

Elsa pleaded, “This must end, Ingrid,” convinced reasoning was still an option.

Emma was under no delusions - Ingrid was a crazy bitch. Her voice was an open threat: “Our magic is a part of us now; we control it and we control it really well.”

“I’m so proud of you both. You’ve finally embraced who you truly are.”

She was so calm, genuinely pleased. When Elsa looked to Emma, she seemed finally to realise the truth of this woman. _Fucking nuts…_ They threw their magic at the same time.

Nothing happened.

Emma stared at her ineffectual, outstretched hands; Elsa panicked.

“Emma…?”

“Again.”

A swing - and another miss. The ribbons on their wrists hummed and glowed, burned again into Emma’s skin. The Ice Bitch spoke with her lilted voice -- Emma heard none of it, her attention and hatred focused on this tiny strip of yellow satin.

This was why she was here and not with her parents, or with her son, or with Regina - this was why her morning had ended in half-formed kisses instead of cloistered fucking, because for once in her goddamn life, Emma hadn’t fled from an illicit scene. This _thing_ had forced her away.

“We’ve gotta get these things off,” she said through gritted teeth, and tugged at the ribbon. Elsa nodded, while Ingrid prattled on about love, her twisted version of it and Emma didn’t give a fuck. She was trapped here while her people were being torn apart.

She’d had enough. She grabbed Elsa’s arm and dragged her away.

*

Belle and Gold had fled, but inside their shop Emma grabbed at anything in the display cases that looked sharp and vaguely magical and tried them against the strip on her wrist.

A flurry of destruction followed; Emma increasingly pissed off as item after item broke, until finally a hefty – _claw? Horn? The fuck is this thing?_ – snapped and she huffed, “I give up. It’s useless! The magic protecting this ribbon is just too powerful.”

“I guess the Snow Queen meant what she said about her love.”

Emma shook her head, frustrated and on edge. “I’m sorry, I was too busy thinking of ways to punch her to retain that.”

Elsa grabbed her hand, touched her wrist; momentarily focused her again. “She said the love flowing through our ribbons was without equal.”

Emma stared at the ribbon and a half-baked idea began to form. She shared it anyway, impassioned, because what did she have to lose except everything. “Maybe without equal… But not without an opposite that’s equally strong.”

“What?”

“If her amplified love put these ribbons on our wrists, then maybe what we need is someone’s equally amplified hatred to get them off.”

Elsa stumbled to her defence, “Emma you’re a bit prickly, but you’re certainly not hateable.”

“Tell that to Regina,” she shot back, quickly, darkly – then realised exactly what Elsa had said. “I’m prickly?”

“If you let Regina out while she’s under the influence of the Snow Queen’s curse, she’ll--” Elsa inhaled her last words, held them back; instead, she shook her head. “I just don’t think it will go very well for any of us.”

“That’s probably an understatement,” was Emma’s gravelled response. Then, she half-shrugged. “But right now, it’s—”

“A _theory_.”

“--The best chance we have.”

Emma gained momentum, determined to convince Elsa this was the right course of action even though a part of her, a large part, was pretty sure it was not. _Do I just want to see her? Why would I want to see her now? Has it gone that far? What even is this?_ “If Storybrooke wants to survive, Regina needs to hate me like she’s never hated me before.”

Elsa looked down at the glass countertop, searched the display cabinets for the right words; picked them out carefully. “Do you think that’s even possible? After yesterday, I mean?”

Emma tensed, her boots scuffed on the wooden floor and Elsa thought it was strange - this woman who was so obstinate and reckless about so many things seemed so _skittish_ about love.

Elsa used her wide eyes to hold Emma firmly in place, told her plainly: “Regina certainly didn’t look like she hated you at that old house. Or you her. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Uncomfortable, Emma angled her body over the counter, weight heavy on her palms. “Maybe not. But Regina and I-- I don’t know what we are. But it isn’t True Love. And you saw my parents -- If they can act like that...” She did a nervous push-up against the counter’s edge before she continued.

“If there’s one thing I know about me and Regina, it’s that hatred and anger are always just under the surface. We can push each other’s buttons like nobody else. I can make her angry.”

“Yes. But can you make her _hate_ you?

Emma’s attempt at a smile was garish. “If she’s anything like she used to be… It won’t take much **.”**

*

Regina had broken through the barriers around the inner chambers of her vault without too much effort, but the magic that locked the door that led outside was entirely different; brutish and forceful. She had tried over and over, for hours, every spell she knew and then beaten her hands numb against the wood - all to no avail.

It was obvious what had happened here, why she was trapped and by whom; Regina may have forgotten the logistics - through some sort of _trickery_ \- but the Savior was responsible. She knew because her name, _Emma Swan,_ echoed through the empty halls of her memory, sometimes as a frantic hiss, sometimes in a mournful wail.

That woman was responsible, because she was _always_ responsible - she and Snow White, a legacy of destruction wrought on Regina’s life. She kicked at the door one final time, growled her frustration into the claustrophobic mouth of her prison and stormed away; descended deeper.

Down the stairs, she railed, “I should’ve incinerated her years ago”; complained to no one in particular - Sidney, maybe - _where is my mirror man?_ \-- “This is what I get for being _subtle_!”

It was the _missing_ that bothered her most; the jumble of her mind, strange interlocking images that no longer quite fit, as though the edges had been cut away. She knew where she was but she didn’t know how she had gotten here; knew the Savior was involved but couldn’t remember why -- and something else, a tightness in her chest, a young man’s name that constricted her lungs each time she tried to breathe it out – but it wasn’t _Daniel_.

All Regina knew for sure, was that the Savior had done something unspeakable to her; stripped her bare, left her barren.

_I will take it all back. Forcefully..._

Confronted by an ornate mirror, Regina almost didn’t recognise herself. “What the hell am I wearing?” She knew it had something to do with the curse, with her cover as the town’s Mayor but that was no longer necessary. Regina Mills was, and always would be, the _Queen._

She waved her arms; billowed purple smoke redressed her in attire that befitted her position: Leather and red velvet, bustiere and basque; a constellation of jewels across her paled skin -- _Much more efficient than tiny birds._

Finally, Regina felt like she recognised her reflection, like she knew who she was even though she hadn’t for such a long time.

With a sneered grin, she whispered: _“I’ve missed you.”_

*

They ran up to Regina’s vault, Elsa breathless from racing, Emma from something else entirely; an anxious tightness in her chest, an almost abhorrent exhilaration. Emma tested the area’s boundaries with a rock and the place hummed with magic.

Emma shook her wrists, rubbed her hands, tossed back her hair. “Containment spell - okay. Here goes...” She closed her eyes and put out her arms, tried to focus on everything Regina had taught her and not on the woman herself.

She failed.

Elsa stepped forward, put a hand on her shoulder, “You can do it.”

_Can I? Should I? Do I really want to?_

Emma jumped on the spot, huffed; a boxer again, ready. This time her palms crackled to life, buzzed against the magic of the vault; Emma worked it like a lock pick because her brain could handle that, the feeling of muscle memory. The barrier fell away.

She was relieved in parts, terrified in others. “Well - I’m still getting the hang of the controlling the magic thing - but lucky for us, the next part should be easy for me.”

As she strode up the vault’s stairs, Elsa asked, “What’s that?”

“Be _prickly_.”

*

Below ground, the vault was far larger than it ever looked from the outside, labyrinthine. To Emma, one room piled with magical junk looked identical to any other, so even the vaguest sense of familiarity was useless.

Emma soon gave up on the element of surprise and settled for simply finding Regina at some point. She wanted to call out, but -- _Who would I be calling for?_ The sound of her voice would most likely earn her a fireball. Emma kept quiet.

As they descended yet another set of stairs, Elsa whispered, “How deep does this place go?”

“If we hit brimstone, we’ve gone too far.” Elsa looked sideways at her and Emma shook her head. “Never mind.”

Emma was startled when they pushed through a door into a very familiar room, suspected she had taken them on the most circuitous route to get here, but there she was: Regina Mills -- Or at least, someone who looked vaguely like her.

The outfit, the hair - the face - stopped Emma short. “Whoa. Little late for Halloween.”

Regina rose slowly, her smile vicious. _“You.”_

Emma wasn’t exactly a fan of excessive collars and shoulder— _spears?,_ but had to admit the woman certainly filled the outfit. “How do you walk in that thing?”

“With the poise and composure of a Queen.”

Emma blinked. The cadence of Regina’s voice, her annunciation - words were longer, rounder, they buzzed in her mouth. She’d heard this before, met this woman before, in another time and place – She was the Evil Queen then, so now… _Well, fuck._

Emma wondered how much of _her_ Regina was still in there.

_No, not mine. Never mine._

“Perfect timing, Miss Swan.” The Queen’s volume increased with anger, “I was just reading up on how to turn you into a garden _topiary._ ”

Emma had no words, her mind one long _Ummm…_

Regina went on dismissively, “What’s _she_ doing here?”

Elsa saw that Emma was officially useless right now. She understood, but they had to go through with the plan. She prompted, “I wanted to see your face when you learned the truth.”

The Queen sneered derisively, hand on her hip. “The truth about what?”

“I lied to you, Regina, about Marian,” Emma said in a rush. “I knew all along. I brought her here on purpose.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“What you don’t know is why…” She was making it up as she went along, not sure how much Regina remembered or what mattered to her anymore. “Not only did I wanna break your heart, I wanted you to see me and Hook together, see the happiness you could never have, and ruin it again, just like my mother did.”

Regina’s nostrils flared as Emma spoke, she reared back; “I—” She paused, tilted her head, startled by her own reaction when she said, “I really don’t care.”

The Queen couldn’t figure out why her words were the truth; the merest mention of the Savior’s betrayal should have driven her to a blind fury. She covered her confusion with majesty, hands on her hips. “I have no interest in _Robin Hood_. He is a peasant who lives in the woods. He doesn’t even bathe. Why would I want _him_?”

Emma bit the smallest smile from the inside of her cheek before it showed. Apparently there was something of her Regina left in the Evil Queen after all.

 _Not mine_. _Never really mine._

But it made her job harder. Emma already regretted what she would do next. She reached for Elsa, took her hand, laced their fingers together.

Black-brown eyes dragged to the touch and narrowed; molten rock flowed across the Queen’s jaw.

From the corner of her mouth, Emma muttered, “I’m so sorry about this…”

Elsa stared at their hands, the side of Emma’s face; looked to the furious flare of the Evil Queen and forced herself not to pull away. Instead she stood tall, stared pointedly at this now royal adversary; reminded herself she too was a Queen, not simply a woman terrified.

Regina growled, “What is this?”

“Remember what I said to you this morning?” Emma asked, lowly. “About Elsa being the only person who could help me?”

The Queen glared at her, eyes searched for something just out of reach; the words of a fevered dream. “Of course I don’t. It’s clear you took everything from me before you trapped me in this place.”

 _It wasn’t me!_ Emma wanted to shout; _and you weren’t the only one who lost something..._

“Well, I said it,” Emma went on. “But it wasn’t true. What I should’ve said, is that nothing you could offer me would ever come close to what Elsa has. Not your help, and not your affection.”

The Evil Queen paused, her mouth wide and curved; an expulsion of laughter. She folded her arms over her chest, leant back on her spiked heels. “My _affection_?”

“Yeah. It was sad,” Emma shrugged, though a part of her was pissed at Regina’s reaction. “You threw yourself at me; said you loved me, that you wanted us to raise our son together…”

The Queen scoffed. “That’s ridic-- Our _son?”_ That torn feeling in Regina’s chest rented a little further; the young man whose name she couldn’t remember - “I have a son? What’s his name?” she demanded.

Emma said “Henry,” before she could stop herself, realised she had fucked up. _Crap._

 _Crap, crap, crap…_ She should’ve played another angle, should’ve known the curse would take everything about their kid. Of course it did. Henry was the only good in Regina for a long time, the only reason she fought to find any good in anyone else. Without him, the worst was all she had left.

“That was my father’s name,” Regina rasped. Once-evil eyes glittered suddenly, brighter than the jewels on her skin; her shoulders stooped with the memory of her betrayal, hand twitched with the final beat of his heart.

Emma instinctively stepped forward, had to hold herself back -- This had to be done, there was no other way. Regina needed to hate her. “Yeah, you named my son after a man you killed, you twisted bitch.”

“ _Your_ son?” the Queen whispered hoarsely. “I thought you said he was mine?”

_It’s complicated..._

“No, _I_ gave birth to Henry, so he’s _my_ son,” Emma growled, finger pointed accusingly. “You took him, tried to twist him like you twist everyone else, so I took him back. I got between you and Henry because I knew it was the only way I could protect him from _you_.”

“ _You took my son?_ ” The words dripped from her mouth, her blood like acid. Regina remembered only fighting, their cruel words, an utterly bereft feeling in the presence of the Savior. Now that loss had a name: _Henry_.

“No, I saved _my_ son,” Emma corrected; braced for her next attack like the bitterest soldier. “I know you, Regina. You tear apart everything you love. You turn it all to shit. If I’d left Henry with you, he’d be bitter and fucked up, ‘cause that’s how you’ve always been.”

“You know _nothing_ about me,” the Evil Queen spat vehemently.

“Yeah I do. Because I made you think we were friends, that we were partners so I could keep an eye on you - and you fell for it.” Her tongue thrust viciously at Regina’s heart. “Turns out, you’re so desperate for any kind of affection, you thought it _meant_ something.”

Red lips slid grotesquely over fiercely gritted teeth; the Queen snarled, “That’s a lie.” But there was a prickle of truth to the Savior’s words, it burrowed under her skin like a thorn. It needed to be plucked out. _I’ll start with those green eyes._

Emma sneered, “Believe what you want, lady. But it’s true.” Ruthlessness rattled in her empty chest. “Did you really think anyone could feel anything more than _pity_ for you? Anything at all?”

The Evil Queen seethed, wounded and enraged; violet swirled through wide black pupils. Emma knew she was almost there. _Just one last push..._

“When Elsa and I leave here, everyone will know the truth about you. Everyone will know you’re just a sad, lonely woman who can’t convince _anyone_ to love her -- Not her son, and not me. You’ll be alone. Just like my mother always wanted.”

Hatred exploded through the Evil Queen; burned white-hot with the petroleum mix of Snow White, humiliation and personal attack. It blackened her bones, seared across her skin; peeled her lips back from her teeth. The fire poured into Regina’s clenched fist; she reared back, raised her arm and hissed: “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

The fireball launched. Emma turned and dropped to one knee, forced their wrists skyward. It hit exactly as they wanted - Regina’s amplified hatred incinerated the Snow Queen’s ribbons like they were simple satin.

Emma sprang up and threw a wave of magic that knocked the Evil Queen across the room. Elsa turned and ran and that should’ve been the end of it. But Emma couldn’t move her feet, couldn’t tear herself away from Regina’s crumpled body. Everything she’d said had left her broken.

It didn’t matter that this was not _her_ Regina.

_Not mine. Not ever mine._

Emma’s words had been designed to hurt the woman beneath the dark magic. She had done that, and it meant Regina was still in there somewhere. _What did I do? What if she remembers everything? What if she believes what I said? What if--_

“EMMA!”

Elsa’s panicked shout jolted her back – she turned and started to run, but it was too late. Emma’s body lifted into the air, arms crushed to her sides as if held by a giant hand - she hit the stone wall hard. Her boots flailed uselessly in space as she struggled against the magic. It was no use.

Emma knew what had to happen. She shouted at Elsa: “Run!”

“What? Emma--”

“You have to stop this curse, it’s the only way!” Emma coughed, throat constricted by the heavy press of Regina’s magic. “You can do this Elsa, you have to.”

“I need you with me,” the woman pleaded, tears in her glacier-blue eyes.

“Take Anna -- Just find the Snow Bitch.” Emma drew a jagged breath as she watched the Evil Queen rise slowly, majestically from the floor. “Just _go_!”

Elsa did; turned and ran from the vault. Storybrooke’s fate was in her hands now.

Emma’s fate was in the hands of the Evil Queen. Hands that smoothed across leather, wiped away the dust from being thrown. The woman eyed her like she was the most entertainingly pinned beetle.

The grip on Emma’s chest and throat squeezed tighter and she gasped for air. “Regina—”

“Shhhhhhh.” The Queen walked slowly towards her, a finger on her red lips. “I think you’ve talked enough for now, dear.”

The woman stopped just inches from Emma’s boots, but there wasn’t enough oxygen left in her for kicking.

The Evil Queen smiled broadly up at her. “Night night...”

Emma’s world blackened.

*****


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The Evil Queen raised an eyebrow at the Savior’s tone; slid her thumbs down the v of bone and tendon until they rested in the furrows between her thighs. She pressed outwards, forced the woman’s legs incrementally wider and asked it again, breath hot on her cheek. “But do you think I love you, Savior?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story ramps up to its explicit rating much faster than the last. As in, now. I can't seem to write pure PWP, I guess this is as close as I get.  
>  **Please take note of the additional content tags above.** This story focuses on a dark-magicked Regina Mills-as-Evil Queen. Power play is sexy. So is consent - I will do my best to handle both with as much care as possible, but this will walk a very fine line.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_4\. [ Tighter than I thought ]_ **

While Emma Swan was unconscious, the Evil Queen considered several inventive ways to kill her - but it was never as much fun when they weren’t screaming. Instead, she tried undoing whatever spell the Savior had cast to strip away her memories, to steal a child she didn’t even know she’d had.

It was no use. The Savior’s magic was too strong.

That show of power did nothing to improve Regina’s mood -- She railed against walls and furniture, threw fire at piles of papers and potions; cut a swathe of violence through the halls of her vault and left a satisfying wake of destruction.

Eventually, her wrath felt manageable. She waved her gloved hands until the mess disappeared - it would do her no good for the Savior to see how much she had upset her. _A place for everything and everything in its place…_

Emma Swan’s place, the Queen had decided, was naked and splayed magically against her wall. _More tapestry than topiary - but it will do for now._

She conjured herself a fittingly throne-like chair and footstool - all ebony and velvet, a flash of red to match her caped basque - and waited for the woman to come around. Stiletto boots up, the Evil Queen pulled the leather gloves from her arms and discarded them; set about filing the longer nails of her left hand into sharp points - not because she had to, but because the aesthetic always drew such a lovely response. _It’s good to have two dominant hands._

She needed a distraction from the word Henry: The name of her father, this unknown son; it whispered persistently, tantalised and repelled from behind a locked door in the darkest room of her mind. But it wasn’t the only part of what the Savior had said that reverberated in her.

There was the small matter of Robin Hood versus the Sparkly Blonde.

It confounded Regina -- Emma Swan had destroyed a chance for happiness that she had sought her whole life, one beyond power and vengeance. And yet she’d felt only vague disdain when Hood’s name was mentioned.

_Why don’t I care?_

Even the acknowledgement that Marian’s return was purposeful and malicious bothered her only because the Queen didn’t like to share her toys.

Yet everything in her had ignited at the benign touch between Swan and that blue-eyed footnote. It had filled her with an immutable rage; twisted bitterness into her marrow, a spiteful seeding of her bones -- Their flaunted happiness, the opportunities taken from her.

The feelings would make sense, except that it wasn’t the Savior Regina had raged at. It was the woman she’d clung to.

Regina gripped the blade of the nail file tightly, felt it bite her palm when she stabbed down, embedded it deeply into the velvet and wood arm of her chair. She launched to her feet, paced the confines of the room.

She refused to believe what the Savior had claimed; that they could possibly become _friends_ , let alone an implied something more. The notion was ridiculous: the woman was antagonistic, self-righteous to the point of being punched - this was all a clear indication Swan had performed a powerful and unspeakable magic against her.

Yet the Savior was built for Light, indisposed to dark sorcery. Darkness belonged to Regina; belonged to people who were-- Like _Gold._

The Evil Queen howled up at the ceiling, “Show yourself, you malignant imp!”

He didn’t. But then, she expected no more than cowardice from him.

She snatched up the nearest glass and threw it at a far wall, revelled as it shattered, and then twirled tightly on her heel. She strode to the splayed form of the Savior, put a hand on the stone beside her hanging head and leaned in to her ear. “It’s time you woke up, _dear_.”

Emma stirred; blew at her curtained hair, tried to see more through it than the momentarily blinding candlelight and a flash of white teeth. “‘Gina?”

The Evil Queen bristled at the easy truncation of her name. _I’ll have to do something about that…_ She hissed into blonde, “You made a deal with the Dark One.”

“What’re you--” Emma struggled against the bonds that held her tightly to the wall. There was no ground beneath her bare feet, her arms and legs were stretched -- It wasn’t exactly painful, but it wasn’t comfortable either. “The _fuck_ , Regina?”

The Queen grinned, pushed away; a few steps back, she rested on her heels, arms crossed on her chest. “I did a little… _redecorating_ while you were out.” She raised a discerning eyebrow at the Savior’s lean form. “Not my worst effort...”

Emma felt one hell of a draft and double-checked herself. “Where the fuck are my clothes?” 

“You stripped something from me, Savior,” the Evil Queen spat, “so I stripped you.” She stepped forward, hissed: “I think it’s _fitting_.”

“I think it’s fucking cold,” Emma complained. “I’m naked - you can’t turn the heat up in here?”

The Queen chuckled, “Oh, I plan to.” Everything but the icy sneer fell away from her face.

Emma felt the first spasm of fear surface roughly behind her floating ribs. She swallowed forcefully; licked her dry lips, arched her back to re-test her magical bonds -- Regina’s eyes drew fast to her tightly puckered nipples and Emma thought, _I can work with that…_ She arched again.

Emma had hoped for an easing on her limbs, but the Evil Queen wasn’t so easily distracted. Instead, everything tightened. The Evil Queen reached out and flicked the raised flesh painfully with her fingernail. Emma winced, glared.

“You’ll have to do better than that, dear,” the woman smirked. She moved suddenly; the fingers of one hand wrapped around Emma’s throat, while two from the other thrust into her without warning.

Emma grunted; a sharp intake of breath clattered against her teeth. Her eyes squeezed shut, chin dropped to her chest – but the surprise wasn’t pain. It was the lack of it. Emma tightened around Regina’s fingers, still sensitive and welcoming from the night before.

She heard surprise in the Evil Queen’s voice, the stuttered hilt before she managed, “Well, well… Perhaps I’ll have to try a little harder if I’m going to make you talk.”

Behind her words, Regina reeled; struck by the almost whispered familiarity of this wetness, shocked to find it there. Something was wrong, but oh so right -- She put it down to finally conquering the Savior. Clearly Emma was drawn to her; she should have known, she hadn’t left her alone in years.

The Queen tightened her hand on Swan’s jugular; drew back her fingers and pushed in again. “How interesting,” she purred against a reddened cheek, the darkening flush of purple. “I thought you said you wanted nothing to do with me.”

She pulled out, avoided a strong urge to taste; wiped the wetness on the banded muscle of Swan’s extended shoulder.

Emma rasped, “I said that, because I needed you to hate me.”

“Well, dear - you succeeded.”

Saltwater stung Emma’s eyes, scalded her cheek when it spilled over. “I-- If you knew what I had to do, Regina; if you remembered why I needed to do it, why I had to say those things… It hurt me too.” Her voice broke at her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

The Evil Queen growled though gritted teeth, eyes dead to anything but the worst of this woman. “Yes, you will be.”

*

In a realm far from this one, the Evil Queen had taken what she wanted. When she’d arrived in Storybrooke, a town of her own creation, she had continued taking. Now the Savior was spread before her, and she saw no reason to stop.

“So,” she began, arms crossed again, a suspicious eye fixed on Emma Swan. “The Savior stole more from me than just a _slow revenge_ against Snow White.”

“Regina—”

“Show some respect!” the Queen commanded archly. She stopped short of hitting her this time, but wouldn’t the next. “It’s, _Your Majesty_.”

Emma muttered, “I’ve heard that before.”

_“What?”_

“Your _majesty_ ,” Emma drawled, without a hint of deference.

The Evil Queen bore it for now. She ran one sharp fingernail up the Savior’s leg from knee to thigh, watched gooseflesh rise in response. “I want my memories back.”

“I want that too,” Emma agreed without thinking.

The points of the Queen’s nails dug painfully into Emma’s sensitive flesh. “Do not pretend you had nothing to do with this, _Swan_. You admitted as much when you tried to tell me we had an _intimate_ conversation this morning -- Over coffee, was it? Pancakes? Or just a plate of my undying love?”

“It wasn’t like that, Regina.”

The slap stunned her, a sharp sting to her face - Emma threw herself against her bonds for a counterblow, mouth filled with _fuck you_ s.

The Evil Queen’s nostrils flared as she struggled, smile broadened and Emma realised she only fed the monster. She forced herself back, held the tension from her shoulders and through the sharpness of her teeth, managed to form, “ _Your majesty_.”

The Queen sounded delighted when she said, “Better,” though something in her was vaguely disappointed. She ignored it, dragged her fingernail across the Savior’s skin, up over taut muscle to the bands of her ribcage. “What kind of a deal did you make with Gold? The price must have been quite high.”

“I don’t deal with Gold,” Emma snapped. It was a lie - she almost had just yesterday. Her breath hitched as Regina’s knuckles brushed the underside of her breast. “He’s probably fucked too. The curse got everyone.”

“Not everyone,” the Evil Queen sneered, and filled her hand with Emma Swan’s soft flesh, crushed it in her palm. “Not you -- And not that _overdone_ blonde you came here with.”

“Elsa’s just a friend,” Emma breathed. “She’s trying to help me break the curse that Ice Bitch put on you.”

The Queen scoffed. “Curses don’t just pick and choose who they affect, _Miss Swan_. To be immune, you have to set one.” She caught a pale nipple between fingers and thumb, squeezed it tightly; tugged on it.

Emma’s concentration slipped on the line between pleasure and pain. “The Snow Queen… set the curse, but she wanted me and Elsa with her. The ribbons, the ones you burned, they protected us, from—” A sharp intake of breath took her words as Regina’s other hand crushed against her, a rough tweaking.

“Aside from that _unfortunate_ name,” the Evil Queen muttered, mind somewhat distracted from the questions she needed to ask - “Why would this _Snow_ person want to take my memories?” Her lip curled in distaste. “We’re not sisters, are we?”

“The curse made everyone forget,” Emma said raggedly, and her chest bowed and arched as she tried to figure out if she wanted more of the touch or less. “All anyone can see is the worst in the people they love.”

The Queen’s palms stilled, thumbs rubbed idly across hard nipples as she considered this. “Oh, really?” When she stopped completely, she almost thought she heard the woman whimper. “If that’s true - why on earth would I believe this curse had any effect on my opinion of _you_?”

Emma refused to answer that, not even to save herself.

“Swan?”

She would not. Regina’s hands started to roam again, a rough scrape down the stretched beams of her ribs, a border drawn along dangerous territory. Emma bit the inside of her cheek, stared defiantly over the woman’s speared-fabric shoulder.

“I see…” The Evil Queen was perversely pleased by the blonde’s defiance. This was what she had expected from the start: A high-spirited breaking. She wrapped her hands around Swan’s waist, nails curved into the small of her back where it left the wall.

“Curses do very specific things, dear,” she said, thumbs stroking the bony rise of the woman’s hipbones. “If this one is designed to make people forget everything but the worst of the people they love, then…” Her smile was twisted, voice perilously low. “Are you saying that I _love_ you?”

“No,” Emma said immediately, flatly. “I am definitely not saying that.”

Dark eyes narrowed; something about the woman’s response bit at her. “Then why would I have forgotten about a partnership between us, hm? And what about this mythical son you mentioned -- Henry, was it?”

Emma didn’t want to talk about Henry. She didn’t want to talk about any of this. The physical stuff she could handle, but everything else needed to stop. She squared her jaw, said tightly: “Henry got wiped, because even with dark magic, you – _Regina -_ could never see the worst in him. _Never._ The rest…” she shrugged stiffly. “Just unlucky, I guess.”

The Evil Queen raised an eyebrow at the Savior’s tone; slid her thumbs down the v of bone and tendon until they rested in the furrows between her thighs and outer lips. She pressed outwards, forced the woman’s legs incrementally wider and asked it again, breath hot on her cheek. “But do you think I love you, Savior?”

As her thighs slid open, Emma bit her mouth to stop it from doing the same. This might not be the Regina she knew, but there was no convincing her body. She looked the same, felt the same; her skin still smelled of wrenched promises and subtly expensive perfume. Emma ached to know if she tasted the way she had last night; she couldn’t help herself.

The Evil Queen leant back, stared down to watch as her thumbs revealed a glistening wetness. Her candy-striped smile was wide and triumphant, dark eyes hungry. “Answer me, Savior.” She ran the very tip of her finger along the edge of dampness. “Is this love?” There was almost a real question to her voice. She covered it by sliding in further; purred darkly, “Do you really think I loved you?”

“Stop,” Emma creaked with the corroded metal strings of her larynx - she referred to Regina’s words, but would also pull away from her hands if she had anywhere to go. There was a wrongness to this moment, a tarnished juxtaposition of last night; this morning. Her skin felt the same, but the puppeteer was different.

Regina’s fingers ran along the parted vertex of her wet cunt. “Do you think I could _ever_ love you?”

Emma reeled on so many parts of that. She didn’t know the answer; didn’t think she even wanted to. Right now, it didn’t matter.

When her hips rose to meet Regina’s fingers, she hadn’t meant them to. Emma partly expected anger, mocking, a swift retreat - but the woman sheathed herself in wetness. Regina’s red mouth latched sharply onto the long line of Emma’s throat; sucked and bit, all swirled tongue and exhilarating pressure.

Emma hated herself for doing it, loved the sensation expressed in her guttural moan, pulled underneath Regina’s teeth. Two sure fingers glided through the viscosity of her, squeezed her inner lips; drew fire from her mouth with friction.

“I have you, Savior,” the Evil Queen smirked against her neck, and the darkly punctured bruises billboarded her truth. “I don’t care what you thought before – I will have you, over and over again.”

Emma hung her head because Regina’s fingers and mouth made it loll to one side. If the Evil Queen took it as submission, in that moment she couldn’t bring herself to give a shit. If this woman kept touching her, if her knuckles kept squeezing the stiff bundle of Emma’s nerves, she would all but debase herself for this queen.

Regina’s mouth made it to the underside of her jaw; her sharp teeth bit at the muscle that clenched over the bone and Emma hissed through her teeth. That was the moment the woman chose to push two fingers roughly inside her.

They’d already had proof she was slick and ready, so Emma wasn’t surprised when Regina’s second thrust introduced a third finger. It stretched her perfectly; she didn’t even bother to supress a tattered moan. The Evil Queen’s laugh bristled her skin - too victorious, too self-satisfied - but without use of her arms, she had no recourse.

She did, however, find the magical grip on her legs had loosened, enough that she could bend her knees. Emma considered kicking the Queen’s shins, but when the woman pushed into her again, harder this time, then harder again, her fingers tight to the hilt - Emma forgot what it meant to have control of her body.

Instinctively she wrapped her calf around Regina’s planted legs, urged her closer. Suddenly the mouth on her jaw lashed out sideways and pointed teeth pierced her lower lip painfully. Emma jerked away, but the Queen’s mouth was latched and unrelenting. She tasted blood, managed “ _Fuck_!” - though the bite distorted the word.

When the Evil Queen released her, her contempt was smeared with crimson. She was not done – she pushed the sharpened points of her nails into the concave gasp of Emma’s throat. “Do not try to wrangle me,” she snarled archly. “I don’t like being touched without permission.”

Emma found it hard to breathe, hard to think because Regina’s other hand never stopped thrusting inside her, fingers wedged and curled. She wanted to spit at the woman and apologise all at the same time. She didn’t like being without oxygen, had never enjoyed it; it terrified her.

It was that blinding fear that shut Emma’s eyes and stooped her, and though she had to swallow against razor blades, she rasped, “Sorry, Your Majesty.” Scorched-amber eyes searched and prodded hers until the nails finally released. Emma took a shuddered breath.

The Queen didn’t show it, but it shook her: the shadowed terror in storm-sea eyes, shivered along her spine. There was fear, and then there was this - and it just didn’t thrill her the way it once had. She too had stared into the abyss. There were lines she wouldn’t cross. She couldn’t say why.

Regina found herself doing something unexpected, tried to stop herself but felt disconnected from her body when she reached out, cupped Emma’s cheek; her thumb stroked along the soft skin and bone.

Her face moved so slowly toward Emma’s that her eyes swam with it, the hard yet delicate planes of her face. And then, even as her fingers still pushed into the tight, ridged wetness of the Savior’s body, her lips brushed tentatively over her mouth, warm and uncertain.

When Emma whimpered into the touch, small and needy, Regina tasted the sound with the tip of her tongue; found it sweet and moreish and parted her lips, pressed deeper. That first glide into her mouth was electric, shocking; Regina danced with her tongue, tangled and fought and she hadn’t meant to kiss her this long, or even at all. When she tore herself away, a ragged moan filled the space between them and she didn’t know who it came from.

The Evil Queen blinked, reared away; leant her torso into her strangely fatigued shoulder and arm muscles and levered her hand further into Emma Swan. She pushed and shoved and grunted, tightened her ass and rocked her hips with her movements until the woman’s moans and gasps became loud cries, animal sounds totally beyond her control.

Every sinew and tendon pulled under tanned skin, the blonde’s body arched and tightened and clenched around the Queen’s fingers so tightly she thought they would break, but Regina kept pushing. She pushed through the crest and crescendo, pushed through the _“Stop”_ and _“Please”_ ; relented on the third finger but kept pushing with two, thumb on her clit, through her slump and shiver, through her gasped whimper and into another keening rise.

The Queen’s fingers curved through unbelievable wetness, rode the Savior’s ridges like a pounding break of waves, felt her taut body bow into a second heaved orgasm, filled with _yes_ es and unintelligible vowel sounds.

When the woman collapsed this time, as far as she could against the magic that held her to the wall, the Evil Queen’s hand finally stilled. She would let her recover. For now.

*****


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The Queen’s legs were crossed, one sharp heel stabbed into the carpeting. Emma paused, raked her eyes slowly up the tight leather; hooded and fierce. As her gaze rose, so did the rate of Regina’s breathing, heavy and audible; a warm flush across her breasts contrasted the cold gleam of diamonds. Her wet lips had parted, fingers clenched tightly on the arms of her chair and Emma smiled inwardly before she crawled to her again."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are still in the vault, Emma is still naked and everything is still very explicit.  
>  **Please take note of the additional content tags above.** I've added a few since the last chapter, and we are still dealing with a dark-magicked-Regina-Mills-as-Evil-Queen, so the consent ambiguity lives on. It's not an issue I take lightly. I hope that is evident.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

**_5\. [ I wanted ]_ **

Emma didn’t think she’d slept so much as slipped beneath the surface of consciousness for a while, like a deep lake. Regina - _the Evil Queen_ \- sat haphazardly in the throne-like chair across from her, spike-heeled boots propped over the arm in a way that should have been ungraceful, yet looked refined.

Emma wondered hazily how she did that – how she always poured majesty into even the most casual things: pantsuits and baking and fistfights over vandalised vaults; stacks of paperwork, raising their son. This was not that Regina Mills. But the essence was there, beneath the darkness and disdain; a flash of conscience, an afterimage that lingered on her eyelids when she closed them.

Emma knew if this really were the Evil Queen, she’d probably be dead by now. She ached - but aside from her lip, not in a bad way. Parts of her demanded she be outraged by the situation, angry; feel revolted and repulsed, defiled – but she didn’t. She was a little pissed, and this certainly wasn’t the way she’d thought her day would end, but Emma felt-- She didn’t know. Didn’t want to think too hard on it.

_Roughly handled, but well-fucked._

She reared away from the thought as soon as it rose. Her movement roused the Queen from her unfocused examination of the nothingness around her. The woman turned, stared directly into her eyes.

Emma Swan had known Regina Mills for a long time, in all her incarnations. She might not have been the Evil Queen when she’d first met her, but in those early months she was pretty damned close. This was more than that, the woman hell-bent on possession and power; and far from the vacuous demon she’d encountered on her trip to the past.

Something shadowed burnt-amber, a micro-expression of loss at the crinkled edge of her heavy makeup; confusion in the way she narrowed her eyes and Emma knew, even if this woman didn’t, that without Henry to tether her, without the things she had fought so hard for, Regina was lost.

Emma understood that feeling, better than she cared to admit - the emptiness that came when there was nothing left to hold on to. The frantic impulse to grab everything else just a little too tightly.

“Thinking of ways to escape, Savior?”

Emma shook her head. “No.”

The Evil Queen’s eyes narrowed further -- She believed Emma, which made no sense. “Nothing else to do right now? Nowhere else to be? No _curses_ to stop?”

Emma shrugged. “Elsa’s got this.”

The Queen snorted indelicately, drawled “Right…”

Emma shifted against the stone wall. Her shoulders had started to ache. The magic that held her there had kept her blood circulating and avoided too much strain on her limbs, but things were getting stiff from a lack of movement. “Let me down?”

An eyebrow shot up, but otherwise the Queen ignored her. “Explain again why you put this curse on me.” Her desperate need for an answer would have been hidden to anyone else.

“I didn’t. It wasn’t me,” Emma reiterated, with only as much compassion as she thought the Queen would bear. “Let me down, please?”

“No,” the woman snapped, her tone so much Regina Mills: Madame Mayor that Emma nearly smirked. “When did I take Henry from you?”

“You adopted him,” she said plainly, and watched as the woman’s eyes widened, feet swung to the floor. Her face was a thousand questions; Emma pushed again. “Please, let me down.”

“What do you mean I _adopted him_?”

“Your Majesty, please…” That got her attention. Emma caught the fleeting brush of pleasure at one corner of her red lips, dropped her voice to a gravelled promise: “Let me down, and I’ll come to you.”

“That doesn’t seem wise,” the Queen said dryly, though her tone quavered.

“Think your magic’s not strong enough to hold me?” Emma taunted. “Worried the wall’s the only thing keeping me in check?”

The Evil Queen’s back stiffened, chin tilted haughtily. “I think I have more than enough power to control you, Savior,” she snapped. “I simply don’t understand why I would want to. You seem perfectly responsive where you are.”

It reddened Emma’s cheeks; embarrassment and anger – her body may have betrayed her earlier, may have begged with her thrusts and cries but it didn’t mean she’d necessarily liked the circumstances. Malachite eyes glinted in the tense space between them, Emma challenged her in a way she hoped would get a rise. “Lady - you have no _idea_ what I’m capable of.”

Whether it was a memory or her insolence that had an effect, the Evil Queen waved her arm like a blow. Emma fell heavily on the hard slate floor, her stomach churned with the sudden application of gravity. Dazed, head bowed, her hair like pooled gold on the dark stone, she breathed slowly through it.

The Queen re-settled in her throne, insouciant, a mockery of relaxation. Emma had to try something, needed to see just how much of Regina still lingered, how much she could coax out with a leading mouth and convincing hand - but she couldn’t stand. She was held to the floor.

“Really?” she huffed, almost whined, stiff on her hands and knees. “You expect me to crawl?”

“I expect you will try a great many things, Savior,” the Evil Queen stated archly, and Emma felt her gaze heavy on her. “Any attempt will be made on your knees. It should be harder this way.”

Emma shrugged internally -- _Not for what I have in mind._ She threw her head back, hair in a long wave and tried to ignore the fact she felt like she was in a White Snake video. When Emma crawled, it was with no hint of subservience; shoulders jutted, predatory and slow.

The Evil Queen’s chin was propped on her hand, expression blasé, but her feigned boredom soon became unconvincing. Mahogany eyes rippled along Emma’s skin, magnetised and feverish. Emma let her bare hips roll more than they needed to, relished her pull on this woman.

Emma reached the edge of the large, thick rug that swept out from the throne; knees relieved, fingers warm in its soft white and black fibres. The Queen’s legs were crossed, one sharp heel stabbed into the carpeting. Emma paused, raked her eyes slowly up the tight leather; hooded and fierce.

As her gaze rose, so did the rate of Regina’s breathing, heavy and audible; a warm flush across her breasts contrasted the cold gleam of diamonds. Her wet lips had parted, fingers clenched tightly on the arms of her chair and Emma smiled inwardly before she crawled to her again.

“That’s close enough,” the Evil Queen rasped, swallowed against her dry tongue. Emma found herself unable to move her legs, just outside the circle of candlelight and heat that bathed the woman, not quite close enough to touch.

Emma reached out anyway, held her open hand palm-up like an offering. “Let me touch you.”

“No.”

“Why?” Emma pushed, “What are you afraid of?”

 _Everything._ The thought gut-punched Regina, corrugated her brow; she spat, “I fear _nothing._ ” The Evil Queen glared dismissively at her. “I’m betting you have hands rough as a sailor, and somewhat questionable hygiene.”

Emma snapped, “Hey!” - seduction momentarily forgotten. “Hey I wash my hands, _your majesty_. I shower – I… moisturise regularly.” Actually, Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d bothered, but she wasn’t going to give the Queen the satisfaction. _Nothing wrong with a working woman’s hands, you elitist bitch._

The Evil Queen revelled in the Savior’s righteous indignation. She wondered how far she could push that pride; this woman already on her knees, tightly tethered like an unbroken mare. She slid forward in her seat, extended her leg until the toe of her leather boot neared the Savior’s face.

Emma pulled back, high on her knees, arms crossed over her bare chest. She glared at the woman, who sneered with dark power. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Kiss it,” she snarled.

“Go to hell.” Emma sat back on her heels; watched the contorted-mouth-flared-nostril anger rise.

The Evil Queen pushed closer to the edge of her chair, kicked her boot again; hissed, “Kiss it - or I’ll make you kiss it.”

She’d barely said the last word when Emma lashed out, caught her leg just below the knee and yanked. The Evil Queen grabbed tightly at the arms of the chair to stop herself from falling, and Emma had her boot unzipped and tossed away before she could think to stop her.

Emma kept the woman off-balance, kneaded her calf with one hand through soft leather pants, dug the thumb of the other into her heel. Emma Swan did not lick boots, not for fucking anyone. But she would kiss every inch of Regina’s skin without hesitation.

She pressed her lips to the underside of the Queen’s toes and they wriggled; with her grin she kissed the ball of her foot, the curved arch and ankle. Emma massaged in the way she would have if Regina asked after a long day spent in heels at Town Hall. She heard a low, rumbled moan and smiled against the bone; reached for the other boot without stopping. It was just beyond her.

The Queen moved her leg without thinking, a fleeting niggle that this was not what she’d intended. It disappeared with her other boot under Swan’s deft hands. This was better. Evil fashion could be a bitch on the feet.

Emma contrasted firm rubbing with gently open-mouthed kisses on the bare skin of Regina’s shins, as far up as the tight leather would allow. It was a sweetness she hadn’t intended but she was caught in it: A tacky trap, this honeyed skin. And with the distraction, Emma found herself every now and then able to inch forward. She gained ground agonisingly slowly.

Regina’s eyes had closed, head lolled against the high-backed throne and when Emma finally edged her body between the woman’s knees, she slid her hands from Regina’s feet up over her legs to rest on her thighs.

The Evil Queen jolted - her eyes sprang open, lips pulled sharply back from white teeth. She raised her hand to throw the Savior forcefully away, but something stopped her. The lopsided grin, a proud curve of pleasure to the blonde’s pink lips… Her brow furrowed, head tilted; she snapped, “ _What?_ ”

Emma said nothing, a small shrug; held Regina’s leather-bound legs tightly against her waist.

“You look like an idiot,” the woman complained.

And for a second she was just _Regina_ : the woman Emma had maybe sort-of almost fallen over not eighty hours ago, following a long, slow-motion tumble that had lasted years. Emma leant up without thinking to capture her lightly judgemental mouth -- and she was gone again.

The Evil Queen grabbed her by the throat just under the jaw, squeezed arteries but left air. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snarled against Swan’s open mouth, forced her head back, a deep red flush that would soon turn purple. “Did you think we were _lovers_ now?”

Emma couldn’t think to speak, her vision spotted and dimmed. She shook her head almost imperceptibly in the vicious crush of the Evil Queen’s hand.

“I should kill you now, Savior.” She gripped infinitesimally tighter. “If I thought it would get my memories back, I would.” She held on just a fraction longer, until she saw Swan’s consciousness start to fade, until the point where release would be at its most painful. The Evil Queen relaxed her hand.

Emma slumped backwards, Regina’s legs the only thing that kept her from hitting ground. She hung her pounding head, bit her wounded lip to transfer pain from the stabbing shunt of blood through her temples. _Bad move_ , she thought. _Bad move, bad timing, shitty execution._

Emma warred with herself: Factions that cursed her, factions that called for the Queen’s fucking head, factions that wanted her to just stay down and wait for Elsa to fix this. But Emma didn’t know when or even if that would happen. And she didn’t fucking surrender. She ran - but that wasn’t an option here. She had to buy time. She needed to fight.

Emma felt the Queen watching her, waiting to see what she’d do next and she wasn’t going to disappoint. Shock, maybe. It was all she had left.

Emma turned her head, pressed her mouth to the soft leather on Regina’s inner thigh above her knee and bit, hard enough that the woman would feel a sharp sting, but hopefully not enough that she would grab her again. Emma heard a small hiss of breath pulled through the Queen’s teeth, felt her hand rise but it hovered just over her head. Emma smoothed the dented leather with her tongue, inched higher and bit again.

Her palm moved over Regina’s other thigh, thumb and fingers tight around the muscle. She pushed with her mouth, levered the Queen’s legs apart, wedged her torso between them when the brunette resisted. When Emma’s teeth reached the juncture of her thigh, she slid her hands between the crimson cape and leather to grab Regina’s ass. She dug her fingers in, tugged the woman’s hips to the very edge of her chair.

“What are you doing?” Regina creaked; breathy.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Emma asked drily, and stared up from between her thighs. She smiled savagely, dragged the full flat of her tongue along the middle seam of the Queen’s leather pants. Her small gasp was gratifying.

The diamonds on Regina’s chest tangled the light as her sternum rose and fell heavily, nails dug once more into the wooden arms of her throne. “Are you going to service me, Savior? Is that your plan?”

“ _Service_ you?” Emma’s lip crinkled in distaste. _She’s a car now?_ “Isn’t that a little-- Sure. Whatever. That’s my plan.” She raised a challenging eyebrow. “What, you don’t like it?”

The Evil Queen sneered, though her flushed cheeks betrayed her. “I guess we’ll have to see…” She leant back in her throne, face to the ceiling as though her attention was elsewhere.

Emma rolled her eyes, lowered her mouth to heat and leather. She used her teeth again, relied on hard enamel to combat the soft barrier between them; wrapped her hands around the corseted cinch of Regina’s waist and squeezed tightly. There were too many layers here, too little skin.

Emma scraped her short nails across dark velvet and jewels until she reached the waistband of the leather pants, mouth still moved forcefully between Regina’s thighs. Her fingers pushed beneath the band, scratched on warm skin and her thumb flicked the hook that kept the garment tethered there.

The Evil Queen’s hand clamped around Emma’s bicep and held tightly as if to stop her, but didn’t. It was a touch in a position so familiar that it twisted Emma’s ribs, her breath trapped in the bent bars, a painful bowing to her chest. She ignored it, slid her fingers further into pants and yanked down, forced the woman to raise her hips to avoid toppling from her chair.

The Evil Queen wore nothing beneath the leather but a visible wetness, and Emma’s mouth went dry. She fumbled near her feet, tossed the wadded clothing carelessly, her eyes fixed on the glisten like a dying woman in the desert. She felt the Queen’s consternation but it made her reckless, and at the first arch sound from her throat, Emma pushed both hands against the woman’s inner thighs, slammed her legs wider.

“You’re taking liberties, Savior,” the Queen growled threateningly, but Emma saw the quiver in her hip, the slight tilt of her pelvis toward her that belied the danger.

“I’m taking anything you’ll give, Your Majesty.” The hunger in her mouth left no room for mocking; she ached to taste her again, to worship her like the queen she was last night and hopefully would be again.

Emma ran her thumb along wetness and Regina’s breath rattled on the small bones of her ears, fell in step with the pounding of her own blood. She trapped dark eyes with her own, watched pupils blow when she put the thumb to her lips, tasted it with the tip of her tongue and it dragged out a moan. Regina tasted wild and decadent, almost as she’d remembered, with just a hint of something that burnt her tongue, like cayenne, or dark power.

Emma moved her mouth in a rush; her tongue crashed into the tang and salt of Regina like a wave, rolled and drawn along the length of her and Emma could hardly hear the woman’s cry for her own. She held Regina’s hips tightly, dug in with her thumbs to hold the perfect angle for her face - forty-five degrees of determined lathing, muscle dragged from opening to clit again and again like the tide; a wordless worship, a reckoning.

Emma pushed inside her with her tongue, as deeply as her jaw would allow, nose and lips rubbed against the tight ball of nerves and Regina’s hand twisted painfully in her hair, pushed her achingly deeper. She rolled her tongue, licked against the source of the moisture that coated her chin, pulled back and pushed in again. It drew a rumble of thunder, the scent of ozone mixed with Regina and Emma ached for this taste of rain, danced in it with her mouth; tongued the puddles and sheeting moisture as she moved over every part of her, inside and out, across heat and flesh and the places that made the woman jolt and shiver like a storm.

Emma sucked her clit, rolled and flicked and drew it roughly against her teeth, and finally the Queen lost all semblance of nobility; a shaking, heedless mess of limbs, her leg thrown over Emma’s shoulder, fingers tangled so tightly in her hair that her scalp ached and went numb and it only urged her on. She was supplicant to the thrust and shudder of Regina’s body, tongued harder, faster, brought her to a wild bucking, unladylike grunts and moans pulled from her vicious mouth. Emma ate loudly in the din, hedonistically.

The Queen’s bare heel dug into her back, nails sharp on her skin; her body rose and then teetered on a great edge. In that moment, Emma became possessed; ordered raggedly against her clit, “Come for me.”

And the Queen did. She came loudly and harshly, a taut wire that pulled and warped and snapped apart with a shriek, collapsed in a coil of limbs wound serpentine around her. Emma held her shattered body tightly, slowed the movements of her tongue and mouth but did not stop them, unwilling to let this end just yet, unable to relinquish the feeling and taste of Regina on her lips.

The Queen’s hand moved through her hair, idly stroked, massaged the parts she had almost punctured with her tight grip. It went on, lulled Emma into a dizzy serenity – until the moment everything about her preternaturally stilled. Emma’s tongue froze in mid-small-stroke, tensed for whatever came next.

_That move is gonna get me killed…_

The Evil Queen pulled Emma roughly away from her, but the taste lingered in her mouth.

The cockiest part of her cheered, _Worth it._

*****

****

**_6\. [ To be held ]_ **

In the confines of a darkened vault, Emma had set out to forge an uneasy simpatico between the Regina she’d thought she knew, and the Regina this woman currently was. But they were very separate creatures. In that previous moment, Emma had forgotten. She would pay for it.

“You made a demand of me, Savior…” The Evil Queen’s voice was sibilant in her anger, rough with recent use.

Emma said nothing, braced for a probable blow.

“Not so talkative now?” The Evil Queen tugged Swan’s hair until her face tilted. She looked down on her, wet chin and throat; put her feet firmly on the ground, as though the needful twist of her leg around the Savior’s shoulders had never happened. “Not quite so _forceful_?”

“I can be forceful if you want,” Emma swaggered, and flexed her shoulders between the woman’s thighs to push them apart again. The Queen’s grip tightened on the base of her skull and she skidded to a halt on a knife’s edge, this sharp blade of danger. Emma muttered, “Or, maybe not…”

“No. I think not.” The Evil Queen moved just a finger and it threw Emma back on the rug, naked body sprawled and splayed. She rose regally, powerfully; smoothed her cape and basque, managed to look fully armoured despite her damp bareness below the waist.

The Evil Queen waved her hand and the discarded footstool to her throne slid across the rug, behind the Savior’s raised head. “Turn around.”

Emma glanced behind her, furrowed her brow at the Queen, tried to figure out exactly what she would be asked to do. She wondered suddenly if she had played this all wrong, from the moment in Gold’s shop when she’d thought it was a good idea to come here, or a bad idea worth trying anyway. _Emma, you dumbass._

Emma turned hesitantly; waited high on her knees with her back to the Queen, wary. At the stalking pad of the woman’s feet, her primitive brain geared to run.

The Evil Queen reached out and ran one sharp fingernail up the rigid rod of the Savior’s spine. The blonde shivered, an oscillation of arousal and fear, she could taste it. “Over the footstool,” she commanded, and pushed on the vertebrae between Emma’s shoulders to make her point.

Emma swallowed deliberately but did as she was coerced to do, breasts pressed to the edge of the patterned fabric, elbows propped in its plump middle.

“Further,” the Queen purred, nails scratched lightly down her skin.

Emma resisted this time; her scalp prickled in warning. Last night she had let Regina take her in a vulnerable position, bent over a soft mattress, trusted her in spite of every instinct that had shouted for her to escape. Tonight, that instinct was a screaming bellow, a wailing siren over the pounding beat of fear. And her pride – it was pride that pushed Emma upright against Regina’s hand. “I’m not doing this.”

The Evil Queen’s fingers clenched, claws sunk into the fragile skin of the Savior’s back. “You will,” she snarled. “You will not deny me, Savior.”

“Bullshit.” Emma twisted as far as she could to stare directly at Regina. “I don’t care how in control you think you are; I don’t care how fucking entitled this magic makes you feel – I swear to God, your _majesty_ , if you try to bend me over this footstool I will break your fucking arm.”

The Evil Queen reared back, momentarily stunned, too shocked even to raise her hand in anger. She blinked, took in the fierce resolve on the Savior’s face: her stone-carved jaw, the tsunami green of her eyes – and something else, just beneath the rushing wave. That terror again, a jagged, red-raw scar.

Words clambered in Regina’s throat: _Please_ and _Sorry_ \-- They tumbled into her mouth and she clenched her teeth against them. Her eyes burnt. She found her hand gentle on Emma’s back, a soothing, reassuring weight; swallowed down emotion like granite, the vein in her forehead swollen and tight. Anger filled her, directed only at herself.

Regina couldn’t understand what was happening, didn’t know why; she wanted to lash out at this woman, beat her until those eyes stopped making her feel-- _What is this?_ Instead her hand moved on its own again, thumb traced tentatively over Emma’s lower lip. She cupped Emma’s chin with delicate fingers. Regina stooped for her.

She was on one knee like an idiot Charming - too soft, this gentle kiss; too sensual, the smooth glide of her tongue. Regina lost herself in Emma’s mouth, chased her fleeing parts behind Emma’s teeth, fingers disappeared in the golden curls of her hair. The very last ounce of her disintegrating resolve pulled her away.

Emma’s eyes were fixed on her, probed for something under her skin. It scratched its claws against the darkest door in the back of her mind, welded tightly shut. Regina turned away because she could not bear it; crashed her mouth into the muscle of Emma’s shoulder, bit and sucked possessively on her skin. It left another dark mark; matched the trail on the Savior’s neck.

She drew patterns with her teeth and tongue across Swan’s shoulder blade and when the blonde gripped the edge of the footstool tightly, she pressed her velvet bodice against her side, left her space to flee even though she would never allow it. She coaxed the tension from her lanky torso with deliberate hands, lipped and lathed her into a semblance of lassitude.

The Queen had intended to take the Savior with force, but this was something _other_. She told herself it was manipulation, a tight twisting of will rather than a fatal blow, but Regina didn’t know if she believed it. She was focused on the taste of the Savior’s skin: salted caramel and cinnamon - and something like sunlight. It was a foolish notion and she admonished herself for it harshly.

Her mouth tightened on Swan’s neck, fingers on a determined dive down the dip of her spine, over the rise of her ass. She pushed between the Savior’s thighs and the woman’s moan was barely audible, restrained - but her knees spread wider at the touch. The Evil Queen’s smile was slow and triumphant. She inched more directly behind her, surveyed the expanse of Swan’s exposed skin, tanned and beautifully taut; lingered on the muscled globe of her ass as her fingers stroked against wet heat.

Her red mouth twisted to a grimace when she noticed the darkly dotted bruise. When she spoke, her voice was low, blackened. “Someone has marked you, Savior.” She said it as though she found it distasteful, but in truth her feelings ran much deeper. She spat, “Are you Hook’s whore now? Or does that sparkly blonde have a dimmer side?”

Emma was past the point of subterfuge, tired of the game; hypnotised by the stroke of fingers between her thighs. She no longer cared what the truth cost her. “It was you, Regina.”

The Queen lashed out with her teeth on the Savior’s bitten neck, growled against it: “This was me.” She tasted the new bruise on Swan’s shoulder; “This - this is where I’ve owned you.” Her wet fingers slid from their probing, drew a damp circle around the discoloured mark -- “This was someone else.”

_Yes, it was._

Tear-stung eyes slid shut, Emma’s face was hidden in her hair. The line between Regina and this Evil Queen became cavernous; a deep fissure reft by dark magic. Loss echoed in it. But Emma shook her head, the smallest twitch of air on a sputtering flame of hope, and said with determination: “You did that, your majesty. It was you.”

She didn’t know if the woman believed her, but after a moment fingers were between her thighs again. The slide of Regina’s palm proved how incredibly wet she was and this time Emma moaned loudly, unable to keep the sound in.

She hadn’t meant to do the Queen’s bidding, but when Regina touched her she lost parts of herself. Maybe she always had. Whether stolen or given over impetuously, Emma was helpless against it. It was far more complex than being restrained by magic. She and Regina had been tied together for so long, it was like neither could move anymore without the other feeling a tug.

Emma collapsed on her forearms, breasts against the black and white fabric of the footstool with its dark splashes of crimson. Knowing fingers circled her, drew moisture along her length, painted patterns on her inner thighs. She whimpered when the Queen’s hand brushed teasingly, the smallest tickle on sensitive nerves. Whichever Regina this was now, she was skilled and lavish.

It was the last coherent thought Emma had before her hair was yanked back, just hard enough that it pulled a rough groan of need from her throat. Fingers pushed into her tightly but shallowly; a twirl of Regina’s wrist wound Emma’s body into a dizzy shudder. She pulled back, a third finger on her like a promise, a dare; and when Emma curved her begging spine, she thrust in perfectly and fully. Emma’s world became the Queen’s touch. Everything else was fucked away.

Between the handful of hair and her fingers pushed into tight-wet heat, the warm expanse of Swan’s skin called to the Evil Queen like a siren. She pressed her mouth to the Savior’s flexing ribs, the low rumble of her moans that rose steadily in pitch and volume as she pushed her fingers into her. Regina trailed her tongue along the woman’s side, tasted the edge of her tan, mouth latched to mark the paler skin of her ass cheek as her own.

When she pulled away, she could not deny the similarity between the two bruises. The Queen’s hand almost faltered in its long strokes within Emma’s body; she closed her eyes against the implication, leant her forehead against soft flesh, concentrated on the clenched muscles and ragged sounds urging her never to stop. She wouldn’t, even if she’d wanted to and she didn’t; overwhelmed by the rightness of this moment, the slick-wet-satin of Emma’s body, the salty need of her skin.

Regina wanted more, more of her keening breathiness, more of her _yes_ es and the sound of her name wrenched from Emma’s mouth. She gathered moisture with her thumb, moved up, glided lightly over a puckered opening. Emma jolted, shivered but her cries grew louder, hips wanton against her hand and Regina circled her in time with her thrusts, skimmed and stroked with the pad of her thumb; used fingerprints to mark her as her own.

Emma’s voice caught in the bend of her throat, her spine arced, muscles tightened and Regina thrust faster, faster to draw the moment out, leant into her with quivering thighs. Finally, she used the smallest press of her thumb to release the pent-up sound. It bellowed from Emma’s larynx, collapsed her against the footstool with a scream, boneless and shuddering.

In the stillness, Regina’s mouth was frantic; she gathered every drop of sweat and release from Emma’s flushed skin, Emma’s surrender – but there was nothing tyrannical about it, taken like a shared victory. Emma’s face was hidden and Regina was overwhelmed by the sudden need to see her eyes, their salt-rubbed-copper green; to taste her music-box mouth and she eased her fingers from her body, snaked her arms around Emma’s bent waist.

Regina turned her and pulled her upright, firmly against her; captured her lax mouth and coaxed life back into it with her lips. Her hands were reverent on Emma’s cheeks, in her hair and when the woman kissed her in return, lazily at first, and then fervently – the Queen found more than she had lost pressed against Emma’s tongue.

Though her legs shook, Regina brought them to their feet. She felt desperate and reckless, an animalistic drive to possess Emma again; not for answers, not for power, not to break the curse - simply to _have_ her; the molten flow of her body, the raging fire of her skin. She kissed her with passion and fury, one arm wrapped around Emma’s waist as she walked them across the rug, past the throne, into a circle of candlelit heat.

Emma gasped when she hit the wall, the stone cold and hard on her back, this woman warm and pliant before her. The Queen ran her hands up taut stomach muscles, over ribs to capture her breasts; she cupped and kneaded her, thumbs and fingers firm on her nipples, a hissed moan that could have come from either of them.

The Evil Queen’s body shook with the need for release, but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing this rush of skin and bone, the welcoming softness and rigid strength of the Savior’s body in her hands. Instead she relinquished her lips for just a second, muttered something low and breathy; caught her mouth again.

A palm pressed on Emma’s shoulder held her roiling body steady and then the Queen thrust with her hips and Emma’s eyes went wide. Regina was inside her, full and hard, with freedom still in her hands. Emma had a thousand questions, they boiled in her mouth; chased away by Regina’s tongue, a sure exploration of fingers on her breast. Regina’s other hand knotted with hers, drew her arm above her head, pressed their fists tightly to the stone.

When Regina thrust into her again, again, tight inside her; body hard and heaving Emma didn’t care anymore about the how, overwhelmed by the _more_ and _deeper_ and _again_. She tangled her fingers in dark hair, pulled it from its tightly knotted coil and it fell against her skin like silk. Emma twisted her leg around Regina’s thigh, trusted the woman to hold her up as she lost all sense of north, only the pounding push of hips and muscles, of fingers on her breast, of teeth and lips pinched to her groaning throat. She felt her body rise, fast and rough on a cresting wave.

When Regina’s mouth slid to her ear, her name poured in low and thick like honey, Emma came in a roaring break, nails dug brutally into Regina’s hip. It pulled the woman deeply inside her and the Queen gave a final, strangled scream against her neck. They collapsed into each other; one seamless, sweating body.

A moment then of complete cessation.

Emma’s ears rang. Pins and needles took the place of her pounding blood. She held Regina tightly because she didn’t think she could ever let go.

When the fullness inside her disappeared, Emma whimpered. Regina’s fingers shook on the long path down her body, until she cupped the wetness between them. Emma searched for her breath on the damp skin of Regina’s trembling shoulder. She kissed her softly.

“Regina—”

The hand that moved to her throat was half-hearted, boneless; fingers stroked her pulse-point instead of exerting pressure. Emma swallowed against it, wrapped her arms around the Queen’s suddenly diminutive form and held her. “Your majesty…” she whispered, into waves of dark brown hair.

The Evil Queen nipped at the bone of Emma’s jaw; a predator momentarily sated, content. She pawed her lazily, possessed the curve of her breast, thumbed sweat-strung strands of blonde; murmured hazily, “Mine...”

Emma’s pride prickled in a perfunctory way. She couldn’t gather the impetus to argue. Regina’s fingertips rolled teasingly against her over-sensitive nerves and Emma’s body quaked into a low chuckle.

In response, the hand on her throat tightened, fingers moved more determinedly against her.

“I need a minute,” Emma gasped, pleaded. Emma’s forehead fell to the Evil Queen’s shoulder, the sharpness of rough-cut diamonds against her skin. The hand gathered no speed but did not falter, and she hissed against the drawn-out line between pleasure and pain. “Please,” she urged.

Suddenly, a gust of icy wind blew into their heat-spun circle. Flames danced and sputtered; a bitter cold leached into Emma’s bones and snapped Regina rigid. Emma shivered, pulled the woman tightly in. “The _fuck_ was that?”

Regina didn’t answer, stiff and frozen in her arms. Emma frowned, waited a moment. “Your majesty?” She held an ice statue, a snowman; the coldness of her went far deeper than her skin. “Regina?”

The woman in her arms was easily pushed back. Her eyes, usually hot chocolate and nutmeg now glinted like wet river stones; face stricken and pale, paler even than the Evil Queen’s signature lead-white sheen. Emma’s brow furrowed, throat tightened in concern. “Regina? Are you OK?”

The woman reared back, flung herself roughly away. She stood shaking, and Emma watched her face collapse in on itself. Then, in a quietly rasped whisper: “Emma? What have I done…?”

Emma rushed forward - and a sudden blast of memories she didn’t know she’d lost overshot her reaching hand.

Regina’s panicked arms flickered.

In a flurry, Regina was gone.

*****


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Shattered, the delicate glass of their newfound trust, their newly-wrought closeness, intimacy; their--_ What was this? _It didn’t matter now, ground to dust beneath the spiked heels of her leather boots. The damage Regina had done was irreparable."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warnings:** There are brief mentions in this chapter of blood, vomit and fears of self-harm, as well as reflections on consent and sexual assault.  
>  If you've come this far, you're probably expecting that, but I thought I should let you know.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_7\. [ But it hurts far less than ]_ **

Emma’s clothes had been folded neatly behind the Queen’s abandoned throne-chair. Pulled on, they rubbed against Emma’s oversensitive skin. Yet she still felt naked.

Emma wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she exited the vault; held her shivering chest through the thin lining of her brown leather jacket. In the empty forest, snow fell; a quiet curtain of lace draped over the pines and rocks and undergrowth. It was peaceful and unnaturally beautiful.

It grated her nerves.

It felt wrong that nothing outside was different - not in the way she looked, not in the clean white slate of the world. Inside, Emma had tilted. Everything felt precarious and askew.

Her teeth chattered.

It was a long walk back to town, and the last thing she wanted right now was time to think. She had all these memories, a jumble of lost things from her childhood that she didn’t understand. Where had they come from? Why was the Snow Queen so prevalent in all of them? How was she yearning for that woman’s affection? Was this even real?

_What is happening to me?_

The only benefit to the strangeness was that it distracted her from thoughts of Regina. They were too many and too much. She needed a break. She needed a breath.

_I need Regina._

Emma lengthened her stride, prepared to stumble to escape this forest; its looming trees, the cloyingly soft touch of snow. Billowed fog obscured her vision, caught ice in her eyelashes, reddened her nose. Her bones ached, her muscles from scalp to toe, everything clenched too tightly. Each shiver felt like a tidal wave that threatened to drown her. But it wasn’t the cold. It wasn’t really that cold. It was Maine.

_What have we done to each other? Where is Regina?_

Frozen leaves and twigs crunched under her boots. Emma sifted through a stock of craziness; of kind words and fun-fairs and a sense of home all spun together by the Ice Bitch. _Sarah Fisher_. The woman who had taken a young Emma in and showed her more love than she’d ever felt in her short, sharp, pre-teen life. The woman who had believed she possessed magic.

_She wasn’t wrong…_

If Emma knew then what she knew now, maybe her life would’ve turned out very differently. Maybe she would’ve stopped running. Maybe she would’ve had a family. Maybe she would’ve felt stable and cared for and loved.

_I never would’ve had Henry._

She would never have met Neal and landed in prison and given up her son to be adopted by Regina Mills; would never have been drawn back to Storybrooke to break a fairytale curse and meet the parents who gave her up in order to save an entire kingdom; would never have met Regina, the woman she despised so intensely that one day, it simply turned back on itself and landed her in…

 _Slush._ Emma grimaced and shook out her boot. She ploughed on with a closer eye to the strangled path.

Emma had a lot of regrets about her life, but Henry wasn’t one of them. And more and more, the things she had done, the things that had happened to her to land her in Storybrooke, had become things she was grateful for. Maybe not proud, or always comfortable, but Emma owned her mistakes and bore the scars because it all led to here. 

These new snippets of her past like worn photographs, dusty rolls of film were difficult to place in that. The possibilities of it; the ragged, abandoned hole they threatened to fill was unnerving. She felt suffocated. And she still wasn’t sure any of it was real.

When Emma heard voices ahead, a high-pitched ceaseless chatter, she almost stopped and hid, not yet ready to face the world even if she no longer wanted to be here alone with it. But she recognised the burble, the babbling brook of Elsa’s less-than-endearing sister.

 _Girl never shuts up_.

Emma could almost hear Regina’s pointed snort when she thought it. Emma called, “Elsa?”

“Emma?” The two sisters rounded a tree and Elsa’s face lit up at the sight of her. It was catching. “Emma!”

When she hugged her, Emma tried not to fall too heavily into the taller blonde’s arms; suddenly exhausted, too weary to play Atlas. Her shoulders no longer felt strong enough to hold.

“Emma? Are you ok?” Elsa held her tighter, alarmed; rubbed her back. “Did she hurt you?”

Emma shook her head against Elsa’s strangely warm skin, then pulled away. “No, I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Pale blue eyes had narrowed, scrutinized her skin; bruises and bites, things Emma had forgotten to hide.

Emma put a hand to her neck self-consciously and shrugged it off. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She frowned as Elsa tore sheer fabric from the back of her dress, bundled it into a long strip and wrapped it around Emma’s discoloured throat like a scarf.

“I’m glad you’re ok…” Anna squeaked brightly into the awkwardness.

“Yeah -- What happened with the Snow Queen?” To Elsa, she murmured, “I have all these… memories…”

Elsa’s mouth opened but Anna’s voice babbled through.

“It’s the stone,” the younger girl said, unhelpfully. “Ingrid had your good memories of her stored in a stone. She gave them back, before she…”

Emma caught the gist in her trailed-off silence, looked to her friend again. “So she’s dead?” Elsa nodded once, small and regretful and Emma felt a pang of loss. “How?”

Anna again, with a chirping rush: “Well, Elsa came back to the jail to get me, so I took Kristoff because someone has to keep an eye on him -- But then he decided he was going to go home and he ran away, to the beach, and he wanted to swim to Arendelle-- Of course, that’s not how portals work; at least, I don’t think - I’ve only used the one -- And he was being just _awful_ , so – I hit him with a bottle. Out of kindness, I mean, I wasn’t trying to kill him or anything, just make him go to sleep, and then there was this note, and it was from our mother and so we took it to Ingrid, and then…” The red-head trailed off finally, out of breath, out of words.

Elsa had watched her sister with the smallest, fondest smile; she squeezed her hand then turned to face Emma. “She sacrificed herself for us, Emma; for all of us. Ingrid broke the curse.”

The words echoed on the trees but the feelings behind it felt muted by the snow. Emma shook her head. “No, you broke the curse.” She added emphatically, “Thank you.”

Elsa’s gentle smile, Anna’s animated chattering – it would be a loud and boisterous walk back to the town of Storybrooke. Emma was almost relieved. With her sudden memories explained and knowing the Snow Queen and her curse were gone, there was nothing left for her to worry about. Except Regina.

She wasn’t ready yet. It was too much.

_I need her._

_Where is she?_

*

Regina Mills poofed into her home just in time to make it to the shiny aluminium kitchen sink. There she retched and heaved, vomited, a white-knuckled grip on the counter, acid and horror and bile. It tore at her throat, at the emptiness inside her, on and on and over again.

When she simply had no more to give, Regina ran the water. She unrolled a section of kitchen paper with a shaking hand and wiped her red-stained mouth. Vileness lived there. She wanted to brush her teeth until they crumbled away.

Her next thought was of Henry. _Is he safe? Did he escape the curse unharmed?_ Regina at least had not hurt him. She could almost find comfort in that fact, but she needed to find her son, to hold him again, to reassure herself of his existence. His loss had been intolerable even through a haze of stolen memory.

_If Henry’s ok, there might be hope. In Henry, there might be something of me worth saving._

She didn’t believe it. She didn’t deserve it. Regina had set fire to the world -- As the Evil Queen, she’d laughed as it burned. The flames had licked Emma’s skin, bitten and blistered her, a Roman candle of torturous violence and vicious abuse.

_I am a monster._

In that vault, Emma Swan had spoken the truth: _‘I know you, Regina. You tear apart everything you love. You turn it all to shit.’_ Goading, brutal and correct.

The blonde had paid terribly for her insight: Humiliated and stripped down, honesty scorched from her mouth, body violated for imagined transgressions - retribution for crimes Emma had played no part in.

_What have I done?_

Regina had warned Emma what could happen when the curse hit, had explained why she needed to be locked away, had begged her to fix this before anyone came near - but she had no right to be angry. The feeling paled next to her rage at herself, her shame.

_I did this. It was my evil._

Shattered, the delicate glass of their newfound trust, their newly-wrought closeness, intimacy; their-- _What was this?_ It didn’t matter now, ground to dust beneath the spiked heels of her leather boots. The damage she had done was irreparable.

_What is left of me?_

There was nothing that could absolve her.

_I am a monster._

It was her turn to pay now. Regina would see her son, make sure he was ok - and then she had to leave. She needed to be far from here, far enough from everyone that she could never hurt them again.

She had just enough clarity to fix her appearance before going to find Henry -- _What am I wearing - half-wearing?_ \- to banish at least the surface tension of the Evil Queen. There was nothing Regina could do about what lurked beneath: The darkly gaping maw, her foetid breath huffed through sharply glinting teeth.

_What am I now?_

Regina ran a shaking hand through her shoulder-length hair. Thoughts of what she’d done consumed her. Giving up her son nearly brought her to her knees. She held in her aching parts with a bloodless arm.

She poofed away.

*****

 

**_8\. [ If you let me go ]_ **

On the Main Street of Storybrooke, a very different scene played out than the one Emma had witnessed earlier. Fairytale characters held each other and laughed, covered in absurdity and snow and Emma would never quite get used to the way they herded together, quick to mob violence or blanket forgiveness - each as dramatic and malleable as the stories they came from.

Arm locked in Elsa’s, Elsa’s with Anna’s, she pulled their daisy chain past the frivolities for Storybrooke’s jail. Her parents were still locked up there, fingers now entwined through the bars, unbearably relieved to see her.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret cried. “You did it! We knew you could.”

“It wasn’t me.” Emma’s voice was rougher than she’d intended; it sloughed away a little of Snow’s warmth, drew concern over her father’s features.

“Emma couldn’t be there at Ingrid’s ice castle,” Elsa clarified, “but she played a very important role in keeping your people... contained.”

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow, searched her daughter’s lowered face as she unlocked their cell doors. Emma’s jaw was stony, green eyes wary and withdrawn - she looked so tired. Mary Margaret wanted to know why, what had happened to make her daughter like this but she knew better than to push for an answer. Instead she gathered Emma into a tight hug, held her until some of her tension sluiced away.

Tulle tickled Mary Margaret’s nose. She thought idly that the tattered scarf was the worst piece of clothing her daughter had ever worn, but it wasn’t really the time for fashion criticism.

David wrapped his arms around both of them, hand caught in Emma’s hair, baby Neal still asleep in his stroller and Mary Margaret relaxed with his support. They were a family again. “Oh - where’s Henry?”

Emma pulled from the embrace, shoulders stiff. “Regina hid him away somewhere. He’s protected by magic so I’m sure he’s ok, but—”

“You should find him!” Mary Margaret’s eyes were wide - suddenly she understood Emma’s tension. Watching her sleeping son through the bars without being able to hold him, even for a few minutes, had been torturous. “Do you want us to come with you?”

Emma shook her head sharply. “I’m sure Regina’s already got him. I’ll try the mansion. They’re probably home, safe and sound or whatever…”

Unnaturally bright; casual and unfettered - Emma felt none of it. Of course she feared for Henry’s safety, she was his mom and she would worry until she saw for herself that Regina’s magic had protected him - but mostly she felt confident he was ok.

Regina, however…

With her memories returned, Regina was no longer a danger to others. At least, no more than usual. But that last tortured look of realisation before she’d fled the vault; the horror, the self-recrimination and disgust flashed through Emma’s mind. _What if she’s a danger to herself?_

The thought pushed Emma towards the door. “I have to go.”

“Of course.” Mary Margaret shooed her, “Go, go.”

“Emma?--”

Emma hesitated; turned to Elsa reluctantly, her hand on the doorframe. She worried the woman might say something revealing and she had no time for explanations. But ice-blue eyes spoke more in silence than Anna’s loud mouth ever could.

“--Just… be careful.”

For Elsa, Emma coaxed out the smallest smile. She nodded once, curtly, and escaped into the daylight.

*

Henry wasn’t where Regina had left him.

When Regina appeared at Town Hall, the door to the Mayor’s office was wide open, magic gone, a spray of disturbed marbles littered across the floor. Aside from a flicker of amused pride at her son’s ingenuity, Regina was overcome by panic. It blinded her at first to Will Scarlet’s sprawled form, sloshed over a flask of something clearly potent.

“Hallo, _your Majesty…”_

Will raised his flask to the stricken woman, blind to the danger he was in. Regina was on him in a second, fists clenched in the collar of his faded leather jacket. She hissed, “ _Where is Henry?”_

Scarlet fell sideways against a sidetable, too inebriated to resist. He laughed at her tiny hands; then his face twisted as a puddle of amber liquid grew beside him. “Look now - you’ve spilled my drink. That’s unladylike.”

Regina snarled, hoisted him up by the throat with her magic. His legs kicked in the air. One of his boots fell off and he looked down at it. “Could you get that for us, please?”

Regina’s rigid hand squeezed the bespelled air tightly and the man’s eyes bulged. He gasped, “Now, now, your majesty…”

“Don’t call me that!” she retched brokenly. Her voice was shrill, untethered: “Where is my son?”

“Funny lad, that one. Left all his toys lying about when he ran off. Bet you don’t stand for that at your place.”

“Henry ran away?” She loosened her grip slightly.

“…Bet your house is run right prim and proper,” Scarlet went on. “Tea cakes for the guests, newspapers in the morning.” He shook the empty metal flask and the lid rattled loudly against its side. “None of this cheap-rum swill at yours -- Top-shelf lady you are.”

Regina narrowed her eyes; reached out magically for the flask. Once it was in her hand she examined it closely, satisfied with the heavy thud the thief made as he crashed to the floor.

“Now that was uncalled for,” he complained.

“Is this Hook’s flask?”

“Yep.” Scarlet pushed himself seated and rubbed his head. “Stole it fair and square when the bugger shoved me.” He reached out with one weary hand. “I’ll have it back now.”

Regina considered pocketing the flask just to spite the drunk, but dropped it on him instead. She crouched low on her heels, arms draped over her bent knees. Dangerous eyes pinned Scarlet’s unfocused gaze. She asked slowly, darkly: “Did that pirate hurt my son?”

Will Scarlet shook his head, seemed finally to realise the gravity of the situation, though he hardly cared. “Boy seemed fine when he left. Bit of a hurry -- Hook seemed worse for it. Got a nasty bump from those marbles. Did I mention I like your son?”

Regina glared at him a moment longer but sensed he had nothing more useful to tell. She was about to stand when a sneaky hand squeezed her jutted knee.

“C’mon - give us a kiss then.”

Regina swung her fist as hard as she could into the pucker of Scarlet’s mouth. The man slumped back into unconsciousness.

She stood regally; straightened her white shirt cuffs under the sleeves of her black blazer.

Regina left to find Henry.

*

Henry rounded the corner of the shoe store at a jog – and was hit hard, by a sprinting Emma. They skidded and fell on the wet concrete.

Though Henry’s back was protected by his thick winter coat and jacket, the meatiest part of Emma’s hand shredded on the gravel. She hissed in pain, immediately forgotten when she realised she had found her son.

“Henry!” Emma crushed him awkwardly against the road; the boy coughed, wheezed, clearly winded by their heavy landing. She wasn’t helping at all. “Sorry—Henry, are you ok?”

Emma helped him sit, thumped his back; scrubbed the icy wetness from his curling hair. She asked again, “Are you ok?”

Henry managed to nod this time. Emma reached out; almost put her bloodied palm to his cheek but he grabbed her wrist. “Mom – you’re hurt.”

“What?” Emma’s hand fluttered to her neck but the makeshift scarf had held steady. Relieved, she checked where Henry pointed, and realised much of the inside of her hand had become outside. “Wow – that’s gross.”

“Yeah,” Henry agreed, far too enthralled by the mess. “Pretty gruesome. You might want to get Dr Whale to look at it. Or Mom…”

“Have you seen Regina?” Emma asked quickly, injury forgotten again. “Do you know where she is?”

Henry eyed her, suspicious. “No. I was coming to look for her when we crashed into each other.” He stopped, swallowed, considered his next question. “Did she… Did Mom do something? Did she hurt somebody? Because of the curse?”

_Nobody who wasn’t asking for it._

Emma paused. It wasn’t the healthiest thought she’d ever had. But it wasn’t entirely untrue. There were a lot of things she and Regina had done in that vault that she’d begged for. _Loudly._

“No, kid,” she reassured him, ruffled his hair with her unbloodied hand. “I’m just worried she went a bit crazy in that vault on her own. I think we should make sure she’s ok.”

That eye again; the one that tested the honesty and validity of her words against an internal bullshit detector, better calibrated even than Emma’s. Super-charged by Regina’s no-nonsense parenting.

She distracted Henry by poking at her wounded flesh, letting her blood drip freely onto the path. “Until we find her, I should get this thing wrapped up. Your Mom’ll be mad if I bleed all over her pavement.”

“Yeah, she hates when we make a mess,” Henry agreed, and knew they were both only half-joking. “You should use that scarf. It’s… Pretty awful.”

“Gee, thanks kid,” she returned drily. “It’s Elsa’s, so maybe I’ll try and find a towel or something.”

Henry had a thought; searched his coat pockets - handed over a balled-up handkerchief. His initials were monogrammed in one corner, and Emma was pretty sure the thing was made of silk. _Does Regina think that he’s forty?_ Emma asked, “Seriously?”

“What?” Henry looked genuinely confused by her rolled eyes and scrunched nose. “I haven’t used it. There’s no boogers.”

She snorted laughter. “Well, ok then. Thanks.” She wrapped the expensive square around her bleeding hand and tugged the sleeve of his jacket. “C’mon. Let’s go find your mom.”

*

Just up the road, hidden in an alley, Regina watched Gold step into the snow. He pulled on his overcoat and walked away from his shop, a sickeningly self-satisfied grin on his weasel face. She let him go - for now.

Gold would pay a price later.

The Dark One’s magic had lingered in the air at Town Hall, tasted to Regina as it always had done: Cowardly and bitter. Hook had clearly used Gold to break her containment spell, which meant these two trolls were working together. Regina needed to know why, needed to know what they were up to and what her son had to do with it.

For now, it was Hook she was after. Answers could be more easily extracted from the pirate.

He was still inside - she could almost smell the rum and cheap cologne from here. Regina wrinkled her nose at it, and then at the unbidden thought that this man had touched Emma: her perfectly suntanned skin, the soft curve of her neck, dimpled chin; had kissed her lips, so thin, made up for by the generosity of her mouth, her extravagant tongue. Regina shook her head against it, against the roar of images that overwhelmed her – the bruises and bites, body restrained and strangled; taking what she’d wanted, taking her by force…

A herniated whimper protruded from Regina’s throat. Regina held herself, the breaking of her bones, her tattered lungs and fractured heart - it wasn’t time for this. That would come later, when she had found her son, once she knew he was safe. She would go. Emma would never need to face her again, to face the Evil Queen, the monster Regina had become. The creature that had broken Emma for sport and leisure.

Regina left the alley in long strides, flung open the door to Gold’s shop with a shunt of power. The brass warning bell twisted on its long post and died with a shrieking clatter. “ _Hook._ ”

He stared at her across the glass counter with its display of old junk, hands braced on its anodised edge. Hook took in the violet swirl of her eyes, the electric sheen of her skin; her hair crackled, wild as magic sparked through it. He managed to look both cowed and combative at the same time. “Still evil, Regina?”

She bared her teeth in a vicious grin. “I never stopped.”

“Revenge then, is it?”

“ _Where is my son?_ ”

A flicker of surprise crossed the man’s face. It dampened some of the fire that had grown in her cupped hand. _If the pirate doesn’t know…_

“Regina, Henry ran from me. I’d presumed so he could find you or Emma. Or his grandparents. Or a pile of dwarves – I don’t know; it’s a very big town. Have you tried Granny’s?”

His flippancy drove the flames higher again and Regina cocked her elbow, while her other hand lifted the pirate into the air and threw him hard against the wall. He struggled against it, leather jacket flapped about his flailed legs. Regina called tangled roots from the wood to hold him there, crushingly.

She crossed the room with an unnatural slide of magic, Louboutins never quite on the floor. She leant over the display case to watch him, forearms on its cold surface, fingers laced around fire; deceptively casual. Her words dripped like acid on the glass. “Why are you working with Gold? What does he want with my son?”

Hook scratched at the branches that held him too tightly and constricted his lungs. One of his nails tore and bled. He shrilled, “Let me down and I’ll tell you!”

“Tell me, or I’ll kill you...”

He struggled a moment longer, then wheezed, “Gold has my heart!”

Regina pushed upright, snuffed the fireball; eyed the pirate suspiciously. When she listened hard enough, she realised he told the truth. There was no wild thud behind his bravado-laced fear. She snorted, stared with open disdain. “Why would Gold want _you_?”

Hook swaggered despite his precarious position. “I’m very useful, I’ll have you know. The Charmings and Henry trust me. We’re all very close. Especially, Emma and I...”

He had intended for it to get a rise out of Regina and it did, but when she snarled more at his invocation of Emma’s name than at the implication he would break a family’s trust, the last piece of a convoluted puzzle fell into place.

Hook was at once disappointed and fearful. If Regina Mills felt for Emma even half of what he had, life in Storybrooke was going to become very tumultuous for him. Better to head it off while there was still air in his sails. “Regina, I can tell you Gold’s plans.”

She folded her arms over her suited chest, ribs puffed and proud, and waited for him to continue. A pointedly raised eyebrow warned him that her patience was temporary.

Hook explained Gold’s plans to leave Storybrooke with his magic intact, how he would use the dagger, that he had planned to look like a hero under the cover of the Snow Queen’s curse by taking Belle and Henry with him while everyone else died; and how the breaking of the curse hadn’t put an end to the Crocodile’s scheming.

When he was done, Regina was left with a roiling burn in her stomach and a taste in her mouth like death. If what the pirate said was true, and she had little reason to doubt him, then Henry was in the gravest danger. It raised her hackled darkness, an Evil Queen’s vengeful violence and in this moment, Regina embraced it.

If Gold wanted her son, she would stop him. Permanently.

Regina turned on her heel and strode towards the door.

“Ah, Regina?” Ignored, Hook tried again. “Your majesty? These branches?”

She paused in the open doorway, hot face touched by a flurry of snow. “It’s a proximity thing,” she told him without turning, then smiled to herself. “It’ll be a nice surprise for you when it ends.”

Regina exited with a sway of hips and jacket; waited out of sight in the bright street. Gold was her next destination, though she had no idea currently as to where he had slunk. But there were things Regina had that could be used to find him.

Finally, she raised her hands. As a billow of purple smoke engulfed her, she relished in the sound of a loud crash and breaking glass.

Hook’s bellowed curses followed her pleasingly into the void.

*****


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"In the arms of the Evil Queen, Regina found a strength she alone did not have. She was at last able to stand again; to rise above with a single-minded intention - the destruction of Gold."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst and humour (?) and storylines - oh my!  
> We are rapidly and increasingly diverging from canon now, though there will be a brief swing back in the next chapter. (That SwanQueen is not yet show canon makes so little sense to me that I just can't... ugh.)  
> The smallest **TW** for brief, positive mentions of alcohol.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_9\. [ Please, don't leave me shattered ]_ **

At 108 Mifflin Street, Henry used his key to open the heavy front door of his sometimes home. Emma hesitated in the polished entranceway like misplaced statuary, while he raced through echoing rooms calling for his mother; through the kitchen and out into the carefully manicured backyard, doors banged behind him -- _“Mom?!”_

He skidded back past Emma and hurled himself up the stairs -- “ _MOM?” -_ and the feeling that Regina wasn’t there settled over the acid in Emma’s stomach and chest. A small part of her was relieved. The rest panicked. It had been too long since she saw her last.

_Where is Regina?_

Henry’s head poked down the staircase, a precarious lean to his body, hands tight on the banisters. “I don’t think she’s here.”

Emma nodded. She wanted to see for herself but couldn’t bring her feet to climb the stairs, to enter the bedroom where she and Regina had spent a night tangled together on couches and in sheets; couldn’t begin to approach the bathroom where Regina had brought her a towel and then stayed, rested one careless shoulder against the tiled wall, arms and ankles crossed, and watched Emma shampoo her hair in a strangely quiet intimacy that neither had words for.

_What have we done to each other?_

_Where is she?_

As Henry bundled slowly, dejectedly down the stairs, Emma held out her hand to him and tried to ignore the fact that his heavy, dirty boots scuffed Regina’s floor. “Hey, kid - we’ll find her.”

“I’m a bit worried,” he admitted reluctantly.

Emma was too, but thought she’d hid it well behind a bright smile. “Maybe your mom just needs a time-out. Can’t be easy being the Evil Queen, all those heavy jewels and tight corsets…” She held her ribs theatrically. “Trust me, they’re hell on the spleen.”

Henry’s mouth was pensive. “How can you be sure she turned into the Evil Queen?” He cocked an eyebrow. “How do you know what she was wearing?”

Emma shrugged, brushed it off. “Just guessing, kid. You know Regina - loves to play the part; sucker for a good bit of costuming.”

Henry remained suspicious and Emma squeezed his hand, searched for words to distract him. A question popped into her head. “Hey— if you didn’t see your mom after the curse, how’d you get out of… wherever she had you?”

Henry’s brows stitched together across a thoughtful furrow. “Mom locked me in the Mayor’s office. But Hook opened the door.”

“Hook? How’d he do that? Hook doesn’t have magic...”

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. The curse wasn’t broken yet. I didn’t think I should hang around and ask so I just ran.”

“Probably a good move, kid.” She touched his shoulder. “Hey, maybe we should try Town Hall?”

“Yeah.” His face fell, guilty. “We probably should’ve checked there first.”

Emma crouched in front of him, a move that once brought them eye-to-eye but now had her craning her neck to see his face. He had grown too fast. “You didn’t know, Henry. It made sense to come here. We’ll search everywhere. We’ll find Regina.”

_Where is she?_

Emma held his arms as she stood. Her wounded left hand twinged and stung, the pain coming through as the freeze retreated in the warm air of Regina’s home. She hissed and flexed her fingers beneath the blood-soaked handkerchief. Henry noticed.

“Ma… You know how you have control of your magic now?”

Distracted, Emma said, “Well, mostly, yeah. I mean, it’s not in control of me anymore -- But that doesn’t mean I can always make it do what I want it to do, I’m just… I’m still learning, y’know?”

“I know, but - have you tried healing anyone yet?”

_Regina Mills spread beneath her on the couch; her rapid breaths as Emma traced her muscled stomach, rolled black tights down toned thighs and calves. The jerk of Regina’s hips, casually wanton as Emma grazed her chin over wet heat, the scent of spice and arousal thick like molasses in the air._

_Her hand pressed on Regina’s damaged knee; Emma wished with every fibre of her being that she had never thrown this woman away in that wood, never pushed her away at all, only ever drawn her inexorably closer, tighter against her body for all these years._

_The damage disappeared; dazzled then, Regina’s throaty “Miss Swan…”; the taste of –_ at last! _\- when Emma lowered her mouth to lace and exquisite fucking pleasure…_

Blindsided by the memory, Emma overwhelmed and shaking, she swallowed painfully, creaked: “Yeah, once.”

“Did it work?”

“A little bit...” _Perfectly._

Henry pointed at the stained handkerchief. “Why don’t you try it on your hand?”

Emma shrugged the shiver from her skin; acceded, “Worth a shot...” She carefully unwound the ruined silk and tucked it loosely into her back pocket. Henry stared eagerly and she fought to ignore him, cleared her mind with a few deep breaths. She rolled and cracked her neck, then held one hand over the other and imagined the surge of power needed to stitch the skin.

Nothing happened.

Emma shot a sideways glance at her son; his hopeful face and silently cursed his faith in her. But she closed her eyes and tried again. She wanted this to work, needed it. If not for the pain, then for Henry.

A crackle and hiss; a short-sharp shock and the scent of ozone.

Emma opened her eyes. There was barely even a mark left. She wiggled her fingers. “Look at that, kid – good as new.”

Henry grinned at her and it was all worth it. “I think you’re even better at that than Mom.”

Emma tapped his chin lightly. “Let’s just keep that between us, huh? The last thing I want is to be in a magic competition with Regina Mills.”

The boy-teen nodded sagely. “That would probably not end well. For _any_ of us.”

She chuckled, wrapped her arm around his broadening shoulders and led him to the front door. The handkerchief slipped from her pocket without them noticing. “Town Hall?” she asked on the front stoop.

“Yeah.”

She squeezed his shoulder, then pushed him back and sprinted away. “Race you!”

“Hey – _Cheater_!” Henry shouted, and took off after her.

Emma felt the wind in her hair like liberty. Her body sang with running, a high-pitched, frantic tune over the pounded beat of her boots on concrete. She called over her shoulder, “You’re losing, kid!”

And for the first time in her life, Emma felt like she was running towards something. Towards someone. _Towards Regina._ For just a second, she felt a little less broken.

To escape it, she ran faster.

_I need Regina._

_Where is she?_

*

Moments later, Regina poofed into the reading room of her empty home and crossed immediately to the sealed magic cabinet. It stood suggestively across from her liquor cabinet, their familiar oak shoulders bent to each other like a nudge. From one wooden vestibule she took three coloured vials of pre-prepared locator spell ingredients; from the other, she poured two fingers of scotch.

Regina swallowed mouthfuls of the burning brown liquid as she combined the abhorrently festive colours of magic into an obnoxious blue. She held the potion up to the light; glared and poured herself another drink.

Hidden on the lowest wooden shelf of the liquor cabinet, behind the bottles of mixers and guest wines, was a small door. She crouched, pushed everything aside with a clink and a clatter and then inserted a tiny key into a small, ornate lock. The door sprung open.

Inside was a sliver of wood, so insignificant that it would be overlooked in the recessed lockbox. But Regina knew its power. It had splintered from Gold’s precious walking stick one fortuitous evening, when he had given a countertop a hearty _thwack_ , angry over something she no longer really remembered -- property taxes, maybe? She had slipped it secretly into her coat pocket and for years it had been hidden here, waiting.

Today, it would serve its purpose.

Regina downed her next drink quickly, the harsh thrust of the alcohol burned her throat and it felt good, cleansed her mouth as it muddied her senses. She waved her hand and a map appeared next to the crystal tumbler, a representation of Storybrooke that Google had nothing on. It could reveal a single molecule of dirt if she so desired – but right now, her prey was much larger: _Gold._

_Rumpelstiltskin._

_The cancerous imp who wants my son._

Bleak darkness rose again inside her; flooded her arteries and veins, swelled in the fire of her blood - a single-minded evil, a methodical viciousness and penchant for callous destruction. No curse was necessary, no dark magic needed to bring the Evil Queen out anymore. She was always there, crouched and maniacal, waiting.

_This is who I am now._

_This is who I have always been._

Into Regina’s empty glass went the blue locator potion, and then the sliver of wood. It floated for a moment, gorged itself on magic and sank, drunkenly, to the tumbler’s base. She fished it out with a short nail and then drove it wetly into the fibres of the map.

It took a second before the spell seeped through, and then the vista changed: A watercolour representation of the edge of town. Not the official town line by the road – he’d found a more isolated location. A far corner that Gold clearly paced across, tested the icy boundary with his magic as the picture lurched.

Regina watched the image fade in and out, adjust itself, focus again. Gold was clearly harried, frustrated, uncertain of what to do next and her red-painted lip curled in a satisfied sneer. For now, the troll was as trapped as she was, between the press of an ice wall and the unpleasant aftermath of dark magic.

There was time.

Scotch swigged directly from the bottle, her hand tightened around its glass neck like a strangle hold. Regina drank to flush away the constraints built by other people on her road to royalty, the last skerrick of propriety, the lessons on manners and how not to kill everyone in her wake. It was no longer the time for restraint. Not if she wanted to save Henry. Not if she wanted to protect Storybrooke from what she had become.

_And Emma…_

Regina would not survive leaving her son. But so little of her remained now that the moment would not be destructive so much as a final sweeping-away of her shattered parts. She would kiss Henry goodbye and then cross the town line, out into a world cold and desolate and devoid of magic, and there she would wait. It wouldn’t take long.

The minute she left, her heart would break.

Here, it still thundered treacherously in her chest, wild and vibrant and aching. It threatened to shatter apart her bones with its kicked beat. She drowned it out with one last long draft of alcohol; gathered up the map and made her way into the house proper. There were other things she needed – a bag and some cash, enough for a private room to wither away in.

Her Louboutin heels echoed richly on the marble floor as she passed the kitchen, and noted with fleeting irritation that Henry had worn his muddy boots inside. It gave way to a stabbing pain in her sternum -- the last time she would be annoyed at her son for breaking the benign rules of their home.

Regina tripped onto the pale wood of the entranceway and landing, fingers clutched to her burning chest. She noticed the scrapes and smears of mud everywhere, overlapped by fast-moving feet, smudged as if there had been a struggle. And then—

The blood-soaked handkerchief by the door.

Regina snatched it up, nearly overbalanced in her haste; shook it out roughly with uncontrolled fingers. There, his monogrammed initials – _HDM_ against the finest purple silk, royal colours for her little Prince. The handkerchief was Henry’s.

There was so much blood.

_He is hurt._

A strangled cry, the moan of a wounded animal, a sound of damage and fury.

_Henry is hurt._

Regina clutched the bloodied fabric to her throat, to the place where a thousand tortured _No_ s came from, each more violent and high-pitched than the last.

_Henry. My son. Henry is hurt. My son--_

There had been a struggle. Henry was hurt and there had been a struggle. Henry was hurt and the most vile, manipulative man Regina knew was out to get him. And there had been a struggle…

_Gold has my son._

Blackness poured between her teeth; pain tattooed the air, first a keened wail and then, incisors pinched and gnashed, it bent to a darkly resonant growl. Regina was an ink-stained lion; an inferno; a hurricane of vengeance and she swelled with it, expanded and wrenched, buckled and tore asunder.

Power crackled on her fingertips and skin, burst through the room like lightning; ricocheted over light fittings and fixtures and furniture with a popped _hiss_ and the smell of burnt leather. She couldn’t control it, didn’t even try, simply trembled and shook as the ground quaked beneath her with a desolate fury.

Henry had been taken from her – or worse, maybe. And her simple, burgeoning, once-inextricable connection with Emma Swan had been broken. There was nothing left for Regina to hold on to, no reason to claw at the moorings of civility and humanity; nothing to keep her from falling back into the arms of an evil that had kept her safe and fearfully triumphant all those years.

Regina tumbled.

In the darkness she was held; a serpentine tongue cooed into the ragged cup of her ear, whispers of madness and justifications for incendiary behaviour fell like rain. In the arms of the Evil Queen, Regina found a strength she alone did not have. She was at last able to stand again, to rise above with a single-minded intention - the destruction of Gold.

Regina would save her son if it was still possible. If she was too late, she would tear Gold apart. His pieces would be so miniscule and bloodied that not even the wind would take him.

She stared at the map, hazy through eyes incandescent with vortices of magic; smiled slowly at the broad-stokes of isolated forest that Rumpeldeathskin limped through.

This would be where they both ended.

Regina raised her arms and everything fell away.

*

There was no sign of Regina at Town Hall either.

Henry was now clearly perturbed; Emma struggled to keep her own panic under wraps. She held her arm heavily around his shoulders, a half-hug that aimed to comfort him as much as it did her. It was not enough really.

“Well, I’m glad I let you watch Home Alone those 300 times,” Emma joked of his makeshift marble trap at the Mayor’s office doorway.

Henry, so serious, countered darkly: “That was my Mom.”

He was right. Emma forgot sometimes, that the memories of putting up with his childhood obsessions were Regina’s, sifted magically into her mind at the last violent dispersal of Pan’s curse. Regina had given them selflessly, this woman who, at the time, Emma had never thought would gift her anything but death threats and fighting - least of all the unparalleled joy of thinking she had raised the son she gave up for his best chance.

Henry’s best chance had been Regina Mills.

_Maybe mine is too..._

The longer Emma went without seeing her, the longer they went without talking about what had happened in that vault, the greater the doubt that crept into Emma’s mind. She spiralled into an ever-darker pit of what-ifs -- _What if I never find her? What if she’s done something to hurt herself? What if she doesn’t want to be found? What if we find her and she’s not Regina anymore? What if she is, but she just doesn’t wanna see me? What if she’s mad at me? What if she believes the stuff I said and she’s hurt? What if she’s repulsed by what we did? By the parts I liked? What the fuck do I do then?_

Deeper and on; drowning.

This time Henry dragged Emma out of the pit; away from Town Hall with no destination in mind, lost and frantic, so full of nervous energy he couldn’t keep still. Storybrooke wasn’t big enough to hide in forever. If they just kept moving, they would find her.

Snow fell on Main Street in fits and starts now, as though Maine had realised this much cold was unseasonable and fought back. Another curse broken and the town had already moved on, lazy life and everyday business returned to the tiny commercial centre. Granny’s boomed, an impromptu celebration afoot and Emma ducked her head against it, Henry’s hand tight in hers.

They hurried on.

“Emma!”

Startled by her mother’s bright voice, Emma’s boots slid on the icy road. Henry pulled away from her, ran through the slush towards them. “Grandma! Grandpa!”

Mary Margaret had just enough time to let go of Neal’s stroller before he was on them, both wrapped obscenely in his arms. David shot a questioning look at Emma over Henry’s shoulder, and her smile returned tainted by a tight-lipped unease. Elsa, Anna and Kristoff lagged a step behind.

“Henry, what’s wrong?” Mary Margaret held him at arm’s length, hands tight on his shoulders, concern in her green-blue eyes. “Did something happen?”

“Have you seen my mom?”

Emma sidled up behind him; put a hand on his shoulder when Mary Margaret stepped back. “We can’t find Regina.”

“Oh. Well…” The woman’s pale brow furrowed and she looked to her husband.

His jaw tensed. “Have you tried her vault?”

“Not yet—”

“She’s not there—”

They spoke at the same time, Henry and Emma and she immediately realised her mistake, his dark eyes hard on her once again. They probed beneath her fidgeted skin, joined by curious looks from her parents.

Once again, Elsa stepped up. “Emma and I needed Regina’s help during the curse. Just a… magic fireball to get rid of Ingrid’s ribbons. Emma stayed back to keep the barriers up around the vault. Regina was… a little worked up.”

_That’s an understatement._

Her parents swallowed the information, David’s eyes narrowed but proud. Mary Margret knew there was more to the story, but would probe later when Henry wasn’t around. Instead, she said, “No wonder you looked so tired…”

Emma shrugged, mouth tight, eyes briefly grateful on Elsa - every part of her avoided looking at her son. She felt the accusations that bubbled in his chest. _Why didn’t I just tell him I’d seen Regina? Why do I keep lying to my kid?_

Trust was so breakable.

Before Henry threw questions like daggers, David incidentally intervened. “Regina probably just needs to cool off. You know her, Henry – she doesn’t like anyone to see her lose control. Maybe just give her some time. Wait for her. She’ll find you when she’s ready.”

“Until then, why don’t you join us?” Mary Margaret added brightly. “We were going to ask Ruby if she could look after Neal while we go out to the town line. It’s time Elsa took down this ice wall.”

Emma finally turned to Henry’s black-coal scowl. “Whaddya think, kid?”

He shrugged, the kind of non-committal surliness only a teenager could manage.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Emma said lightly, then shrugged at her own parents. They looked sympathetic but lost -- Of the two children they’d had, they were yet to deal with the terrible reign of puberty.

Henry fell into step with David, hands deep in his pockets, clearly unwilling to walk with her. Emma waited and slid in beside Elsa. The blonde hooked her bare arm around Emma’s leather-clad elbow. “Boys are a pain in the everything,” Elsa whispered conspiratorially.

Emma smirked despite herself.

Anna’s prattled chirping backgrounded their brief trip back to Granny’s, as Kristoff defended himself against unintended things said during the curse. But it seemed everyone had forgiven Cursed actions: Her parents, the blood-thirsty rabble - even Anna’s complaints were playful, poking. Emma wished she could have that, a light-hearted brushing off of transgressions like dark magic had no power here.

_It’s never going to be that easy with Regina._

At Granny’s weathered fence, Emma paused because Henry stood to one side, shoulders raised like hackles. Elsa squeezed Emma’s arm then freed it; Emma called to her parents as a rush of sound engulfed them through the diner’s opened door. “Hey, guys -- we’ll wait out here.”

They nodded; a cheer rose as the Charmings entered the party -- and then Emma and her son were alone.

Emma shuffled nervously from boot to boot, her own shoulders hunched by the fingers pressed awkwardly into her tight jeans pockets. She looked at the puddled ground, stared at the pristine blue of the sky - ancient clarity where she had none. “Henry…”

He exploded. “Why did you lie to me? You made me think you didn’t know what happened to Regina during the curse. _Why?_ What happened between you and my mom?”

There wasn’t enough air in New England for the breath she took. “Henry…”

Emma didn’t know what to say aside from his name. _Well, your mom disappeared, and the Evil Queen treated her vault like some kind of sex dungeon, and -- Did you know there’s a spell that lets a woman fuck you with free hands? Because it was great and I really need to learn that, and--_ It all seemed inappropriate. Her lungs burnt; Emma exhaled slowly and tried again.

“Henry - I don’t know why I didn’t tell you I saw Regina during the curse but it was just… It’s complicated. The whole situation was complicated and kind of dark, and I guess I wanted to protect you from that.”

“That’s bullshit,” Henry spat, eyes wet with frustrated tears and Emma couldn’t bring herself to pull him up on his language. “I can handle what my mom did in the past. She’s not like that anymore! If the curse made her evil – who cares? It was just a curse. Curses happen here all the time!”

Emma conceded that much with a curt nod, but Henry wasn’t done. He stepped closer and Emma fought to keep her feet in place.

“Something else happened between you, I know it did. Why else would you lie to me? Did you fight? Did she hurt you? Is that why you’re wearing that stupid scarf?” Henry’s hand shot out, caught the edge of Elsa’s torn dress where it knotted tightly at her throat.

Emma grabbed Henry’s wrist without thinking, her nails scratched soft flesh and Henry hissed pain. Stunned at herself, nauseated, Emma let him go. “Shit, Henry – I’m so sorry.”

He held his wrist gingerly, dark eyes burnt accusations onto her skin. Emma reached for him and he jerked away. “Let me see, please?”

“No.”

“Henry…” Emma’s breath shook. She knelt shakily before him, hands in balled fists. “Kid - I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry that I hurt you - not just now, but any time I’ve _ever_ hurt you. I’m just-- I kept something from you, and I’m sorry.”

Saltwater stung her eyes. She fought to keep her voice steady, to keep her son from pulling further away. “I should have told you; I should’ve told you I saw Regina, I should have told you something happened during the curse and that we… we fought. It wasn’t your mom’s fault, she didn’t want-- No one was meant to get hurt, kid. I went to her vault and that part’s on me. She didn’t mean to hurt me. I hurt her too.”

Henry’s dark eyes, distraught, and Emma rushed to add, “Not—She’s ok; but I said some things, things that were meant to hurt her because we needed Regina angry and we needed her to use her magic on Ingrid’s ribbons and the things I said – They hurt her.” Emma couldn’t see for blurred tears. “I’ve gotta fix that, Henry. Your mom and I, we need to talk. But it was the curse kid, I know that. Regina just needs to know it too. I have to remind her.”

“Why? Why wouldn’t she already know that?” His eyes had softened but his jaw remained stiff. Henry wanted to believe Emma, to forgive her but she wasn’t making it easy. “There’s something else, something you’re still not telling me.”

Emma sighed; lowered her face, swiped at a runaway tear with the back of an angry hand. “Yeah.” Her green eyes crashed against the rocky crag of his glare. “Sometimes kid, you just have to trust that I’ve told you enough. This is one of those times.”

“But—”

“Regina and I, we’re your moms Henry, and this—”

Emma’s crescendo was cut short by the screech of unoiled hinges as Granny’s gate flew open. Hook barged into the middle of their conversation -- When he realised, he backtracked almost comically, the air of a man caught out. It billowed along Emma’s bail-bondsperson senses.

“Emma,” Hook said stiltedly; nodded, “Henry…”

The moment was awkward - more uncomfortable than just an unintentional meeting with an ex. Emma’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on, Hook?”

“Nothing. Not much at all. Escaping the frivolities. I didn’t feel much like celebrating -- You know, after _everything_.”

It was meant to be a pointed dig but it felt like an afterthought. Emma quirked a suspicious brow. “Henry said _you_ opened the door to the Mayor’s office, the one Regina locked down with her magic. How’d that work, exactly?”

Hook stared, eyes searched for something that prickled her skin. “Regina didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“You’ve seen my mom?”

Hook glanced at Henry; back to Emma. “…Not recently. You haven’t found her after the curse, then?”

“Not yet, but we will.” Emma’s voice tightened, jaw flexed. “There’s no way Regina had any part in you getting to Henry, where’d you get the magic?”

The pirate’s demeanour changed, reverted to suave and cocky. “Magic? Are you referring to my inherent charms, Swan?” Hook leant in with slightly too much familiarity. “I have many hidden talents, love, and more than a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Distaste flattened Emma’s mouth. Something was wrong here, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what.

Hook righted himself, swaggered; “Anyway – I should go. Now that the curse is over, there’s plenty to do.”

“Actually, why don’t you stick around?” Emma’s words were less a request than a sharply pointed suggestion. Her arm muscles flexed as much as her position as town Sheriff. “We’re going out to the ice wall to watch Elsa bring it down. You should join us.”

Hook fluctuated. Mary Margaret had appeared behind them, lurked at the edge of their tense silence - uncertain what had happened but ready to back Emma up through any means possible. Hook _might_ be able to take on one royal-blooded woman, but not two. Plus, the Charmings always travelled in pairs… The pirate acquiesced with a curt nod and a thin smile. “Sounds like fun.”

Emma glared unconvinced; asked her mother tightly, “We good to go?”

“Yes.” Mary Margaret shook a set of keys and the jingle broke the moment. “It’s pretty rowdy in there, and Ruby is… not up to babysitting, so David’s going to take Neal home and watch him.”

On cue, her father made his way down the stairs with the stroller. He looked harried. “I think your dwarves need an intervention.”

“Uh-uh, they are not mine,” Mary Margaret countered. “And I am not about to become the poster child for the temperance movement. Neither are you.”

David said nothing; kissed her cheek. “Be careful on the icy roads.”

His wife huffed. “I only spun out that once, David.”

“Once is enough.” He kissed her lips. “I’m just worried -- about the both of you.” David reached out and patted the pickup’s hood affectionately. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes and a mischievous smile tweaked the corner of David’s mouth.

“A man forms a close bond with his vessel,” Hook said, as he climbed into the passenger seat. “It’s a good woman who understands that.”

“I feel the same way about my sled,” Kristoff agreed, and hopped in the back. “Though I do think Sven gets jealous.”

“Sven?” Hook twisted in his seat. “I thought your lady’s name was Anna?”

“Sven’s my reindeer.”

“Your _what?”_

Anna sighed; pushed Kristoff across the bench-seat as he started animatedly to explain, and crawled in after him. Her face said it would be a long ride, and a part of Emma had never enjoyed any expression more.

Emma pulled her keys from her jacket pocket and squeezed Mary Margaret’s arm. “We’ll follow you out.”

At Emma’s side, Henry cleared his throat purposefully, arms tightly crossed, and uncertainty twinged Emma’s neck. For the first time, she wondered if her son would abandon her for the things she had done. Maybe they were insurmountable. _Trust is so breakable._

“Do you mind if I travel with you?” Elsa asked gently, and Emma was about to respond but realised it was not directed at her.

“Oh – yeah, of course,” Henry replied. He added sincerely, “Thanks for breaking the curse.”

Elsa’s smile was warm and wide, cheeks flushed. “You’re very welcome, Henry.” She lightly touched his back and they crossed the street together, towards Emma’s car.

Emma watched them go, smiled gratefully at Elsa when the tall blonde turned back and grinned at her. Emma gave her parents a confounded shrug -- Henry was mercurial. Of all the things she had encountered in Storybrooke so far, family was definitely the weirdest.

“You know Emma, that sort of thing will develop into a crush soon enough.”

The teasing lilt of her mother’s voice punched Emma’s lungs, made her choke on her thoughts and she coughed them back out in a rush, squeaked, “I’m not interested in Elsa.” 

“What? I meant Henry - he’s at that age where--” Muddied green eyes pinned her. “What did you think I was saying?”

“Nothing!” Emma forced brightly. She kissed Mary Margaret’s pale cheek; pecked her father’s stubble.

Emma jogged quickly away.

*

At the edge of the forest, the trees were thick and heavy. Spruce and fir had shucked the snow, needled each other and obscured a declining sun. Regina matched the area as much as she could with the broad strokes of her map, though each trunk looked the same.

Her hand was a claw clutched to the lapel of her jacket, it held her to the breast of the Evil Queen. Her palm ached for the lick of fire and dark magic.

She wanted so badly to call for Henry, her precious son but if he could not answer her, if for _any_ reason he could not answer--   _Do not let him be dead; do not let my beautiful boy be anything but exquisitely whole_ – Regina did not want to meet the silence, could not face it. And she would not give Gold any opportunity to escape or be prepared.

_He cannot prepare for me._

_I am cataclysm._

She caught the sound of a shuffled step, a murmured curse, the limped gait of the not-quite-a-man and it spurred Regina, heels and all, through too much loosely-littered organic fuel. If she wasn’t careful her anger would set the whole town on fire -- If it weren’t for the possibility of Henry, for the memory of Emma, if not for one last tenuous string that tied her to a rapidly diminishing conscience, Regina would happily let it all burn.

Regina, the Evil Queen, the duality she had become strode briskly through the last roughened husks of woods into an uncertain beam of ice wall-filtered sunlight. Darkness followed her, a purple haze rolled thickly through the pointed canopy and scattered nervous creatures in its wake.

“Well hello, Regina...”

Gold’s deceptively lyrical voice brushed her lip up over her sharp white teeth, a sneered snarl directed at his stiffened back. “Hello, _Rumpel_.”

Regina felt fire. She became it.

“Where. Is. My. _Son_?”

*****


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"A drop of rain landed on her face, another, wet domes on her cheek and lip. The beast slumped from submission into silence, and then he didn’t move at all."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kudos and comments so far. You have all been unbelievably lovely.  
> There's quite a bit of new plot going on now, so I do hope you enjoy some good ol' fashioned canon divergence. Please take note of the added content warnings about violence against Gold - because we have those now. And we'll return to our regularly scheduled v. intense SwanQueening shortly.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_10\. [ Please ]_ **

Her eyes were black - black like voids, black like nothingness; knuckles red and her mouth, red-stained, red-raw, blood-broken. Everything else was purple: a violet, violent purple; electric neon purple, smoke and static electricity; broken capillary purple, beaten and bruised. It was the colour palette of the Evil Queen. It had painted her world for years.

Gold was spattered in it.

Their fighting had been hectic, dirty, broken tooth and jagged nail, bolts of magic and open hands traded for ancient spells and sharply knuckled fists. Their mouths were too full of grunts and hisses to goad or speak. Regina and Rumpelstiltskin - too evenly matched, too familiar with each other’s strengths and soft underbellies, their styles and tells. Neither had anything to lose. Neither had a reason to stop fighting.

The beast had said Henry was gone.

Regina no longer cared if she died, so long as he went with her. But Gold was desperate for his own immortality, had always been tied too tightly to self-preservation. It was that desperation that did him in.

A frenzied need to avoid a white-hot burst of fire sent him scuttling to the forest floor, and when his hands dug into the thick mat of leaf-litter and mulch, Regina raised a heavy boulder, bigger than his hunched cowardice and dropped it onto his arm. It pinned him like a bug, an excruciating pain that rendered him temporarily incapable of planning or power.

Regina sank into vicious triumph. The Evil Queen tightened her embrace.

“Regina – you don’t want to do this.”

She laughed, long and deep, a lion’s rumble across a desert. But the trees caught the sound and threw it back over and over, and Gold pressed his hand to his ear to block out the searing reverberation.

She collected his abandoned walking stick from the ground. “I have wanted to do this for as long as I’ve known you.” She caressed the cane with bloodied fingers. “It should have been the first, and the last thing I did.”

“Regina, I can’t tell you where Henry is--”

“Because you killed him,” she spat; then swelled, a fission of dark power. The very earth trembled beneath her.

“Because I simply don’t know!” he managed, almost haughty; then raised his free hand to placate her, to beg on his knees. He had never been a proud man. “Yes, I sent Hook after Henry. And yes, I wanted to take the boy with me when I left town with Belle - but that’s only because he is the last piece of my son that I have left. Why would I kill him?”

His words crawled across her skin like ants, stung and filled her with venom. “Because Henry would _never_ go with you,” she hissed, and released the walking stick into the air. With a curl of magic, it swung hard across his raised arm and back. A crack of bone and Gold cried out in pain. Regina smiled and lifted it again.

“Please!” he wheezed, and broken ribs burned with the effort. “I didn’t hurt Henry. I don’t know where he is. Hook failed. I just want to leave here with Belle, that’s all.”

This time Regina swung for his shoulder, crippled the arm that implored her. “It’s never _all_ , Rumpel; there’s always more with you. More pain—“ she hit him, “more scheming—“ hit him again, “more deals, and damage, and tearing out people’s hearts—“ over and over she used the ensorcelled wooden stick to beat him, her whole arm in motion, sweat on her gristled flesh.

The smallest part of Regina, fragile, sank into a dark corner of her mind, arms wrapped tightly around her bent knees. Like a child she hid her eyes, couldn’t bear to watch the massacre and she knew the words spat from her twisted mouth were as much about her as they were Gold.

A drop of rain landed on her face, another, wet domes on her cheek and lip. The beast slumped from submission into silence, and then he didn’t move at all.

Regina wiped the moisture away as the cane continued to strike. Her hand showed bright crimson -- Blood. The weapon she wielded threw spatter into the air as it swung, and it fell back on her skin in a baptism of violence. The Evil Queen cackled gleefully.

_What am I?_

It was in her now, _was_ her, the violence; pervasive and encompassing, an ever-present pull of power and the cowardice that came with losing or using it. A curse that was hers long before the Snow Queen ever arrived.

_What have I become?_

*

The winding forest road they drove up quickly sweltered, the sky-scraper wall of ice strangely insulating. Emma would’ve removed her scarf, but her son was close beside her in the bug’s passenger seat and Elsa’s torn piece of cape was the only thing that protected him from seeing Regina’s rampage on her neck.

The series of hickeys and less-than-affectionate hand prints would’ve been difficult to explain.

Instead, Emma changed her brown-leather jacket for a lighter-weight grey one, used a precariously placed knee and Henry’s fumbled hands to hold the steering wheel. The scarf looked less out of place then, and whatever Henry imagined she was hiding was still better than the truth.

He wouldn’t understand. She still didn’t.

_Who exactly am I protecting?_

Regina’s absence hitched in Emma’s chest, stuck in her throat, throbbed dully behind her eyes and the only thing that kept her from a sharp-180 back into town was the somewhat boisterous conversation between Elsa and Henry.

Her son wanted to know everything about Arendelle. Elsa indulged him, often wistfully and Mary Margaret was right about the crush -- _No one is this interested in the financial division of foreign municipalities --_ Henry’s infatuation grew with every mind-numbing detail.

As far as crushes went, he could do worse. Emma knew if they ever found a way to get Elsa back to her land, she would miss her. A lot. It had been a long time since Emma’d had a friend. At least, one who didn’t turn out to be her mother, or someone she wanted to both kill and crawl inside in equal measure.

_Where the fuck is Regina?_

Emma needed to hold Regina, to claw at her skin, scream, ‘ _where the fuck have you been?’_ ; to bury her face in Regina’s hair where it curled onto her shoulders; needed to kiss and pull words from her red mouth, words Emma still wasn’t ready to hear, words that might never be said out loud; she needed to touch Regina’s hard jaw and the soft, burning wetness between her thighs - everything, all at once, hot and explosive, crucial and dire.

But she couldn’t.

_Fucking of course._

Emma had to wait, always, for everything. There was always _something else_ \- another curse, another fractured fairy tale, another monster under the bed and it was really starting to piss her off.

The yellow bug lurched on a stray patch of ice but Emma held it steady. She refused to crash again. They were almost at the town line.

Maybe they would find Regina.

Emma pushed her foot a little harder to the floor.

*

Regina’s head rang with silence. The walking stick lay discarded on the forest floor, scorched leaves and ash clung to the slime of blood. She didn’t know when it had stopped or how, only that it was over.

_Everything is over._

“Regina…” Gold’s voice creaked from his broken mouth - it startled her. The gaze from his single unswollen eye was too much.

She stared at him, numbly. “I thought you were dead.”

“No, you didn’t,” Gold slurred, crumpled on his side and barely breathing. “Hoped, maybe.”

So tired, Regina said, “I should kill you.”

“But you won’t. We’re family.”

She laughed because they both knew it was an absurd thing to say; replied raggedly, “I killed my family. I killed my father for you.”

“You killed your father for a chance at a Happy Ending.”

“No,” Regina shook her head. “I killed my father for the power you offered.” She whispered, bleakly, “I don’t deserve a Happy Ending.”

“Everyone deserves a Happy Ending.” He coughed weakly, spat blood on the ground. “Mine is with Belle. Yours, Henry. We’re both so close to it now.”

“We’re both villains.” She leant against the rough bark of a tall tree and folded her arms across her broken chest. “We will always lose. Because everything we love, we destroy.”

“You don’t believe that. I don’t believe that. Belle and I… we’re happy. When we leave this town, everything will fall into place.”

“With what, magic?” Regina snorted, shook her head. “Do you really still think magic is the way to a Happy Ending?”

“I think it’s key.” He tilted his bruised face up at her. “There’s a reason you and I have magic, Regina; a reason we can use it to shape our world. There is a reason you still weren’t happy when Henry asked you to stop using magic. Your life - and your home - were empty.”

“That’s the price I paid for using magic in the first place,” Regina snapped bitterly. “Magic that came from _you_.”

“Perhaps.” Gold laid his head back down, too heavy to hold. “But being good doesn’t mean good things will happen. If either of us wants our Happy Ending, we have to take it.”

Regina tilted her chin. “Is that what you think you’re doing with Belle? Taking happiness, without having to give up any part of yourself?” She narrowed her eyes, suspicion and disbelief. “That’s not the way it works, Rumpel. Your wife – deluded as she clearly is – thinks she sees the _good_ in you.”

“Yes, well…” His mouth curved. “Henry thinks the same of you, yet look where we are now...” He spat more blood from his ruined mouth, dark and self-evident. “This is why I’m taking Belle as far away from Storybrooke as possible. People like us, here in this town -- we will never be seen as anything other than evil.”

The truth coursed through Regina’s veins, scraped and burnt. Drily, she agreed, “The Author really fucked us on this one.”

“Indeed…” Gold stared at her, and even through one eye managed to make her skin crawl. “What do you know of the Author?”

Regina shrugged, hedged, “Not a lot. I know he wrote us as villains. I know he made it so that Villains don’t get Happy Endings. Henry--” She stopped herself, the smile that had come at her son’s name disappeared.  

“‘Henry’ _what_?”

She avoided his question with wrenched honesty, “I am going to miss my son.”

Gold raised a bloodied eyebrow but let it pass. “And I am going to miss his charming attempts at snooping around my shop.”

“You knew?” But Regina was not surprised.

“Oh, I knew. Perhaps you can tell me why.”

In her mind, a home movie: Her son’s earnest attempts to help, his sweet playfulness, the joy she gained from tying his tie before he left for his great mission -- Operation Mongoose. Such optimistic futility. “He was looking for the impossible - my Happy Ending. He thought you might have a clue as to the identity of the Author, so I could make him change my fate.”

Gold choked on what might have been a chuckle; breathed shallowly. “Intriguing idea. Alas, I do not.”

Regina lowered her head. It didn’t matter now. She was leaving anyway. “You know I can’t let you cross that town line with your magic.”

“I know you can’t stop me.” He had gained strength, belligerent despite his position trapped and battered and seemingly at her mercy. “The only way to prevent this power is to kill me. And you’ve just proven yourself to be incapable of that.”

Regina smiled slowly, dangerously. The Evil Queen was barely subdued beneath her skin; as they’d talked, she’d grown restless, bored. “You forget, Gold – my son is _every_ reason to stop you. If you don’t have him; if he’s still here and alive, then I would do anything, _anything_ to protect him.”

“Even becoming the Dark One?” Gold managed a ragged expulsion of humour and loosely shook his head. “No, Regina – you won’t be the one to risk that.”

He was right, of course. No one would survive an Evil Queen who was also the Dark One. Regina’s fingers itched to do it anyway, and she swallowed the Queen down. “Then I’ll have to take the dagger from Belle. Without it, your plan fails.”

Gold’s smile was grotesque, fractured teeth rimmed with clotted blood. Regina’s dark eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have the dagger, does she? Belle—”

Before Regina could finish her thought, before Gold could deny or confess depending on his perverse mood, a tremor shook the ground beneath them. Wind whipped leaves and debris like buckshot against Regina’s skin; branches fell as trees shuddered and screeched. She covered her head with her hands and dropped into a tight ball.

Once again, it seemed Storybrooke was out to kill her.

*

“Wow, that is a lot of ice.”

Anna’s comment was an understatement. The wall before them was magnificent and terrible, a towering show of magic like nothing Emma thought she could ever wield.

“And it’s time for it to come down,” Elsa said matter-of-factly. She walked to the wall and gathered power in her hands, aimed it forcefully at the structure.

The world shuddered, trembled; a cold wind raged at them and brought with it a deafening roar. As the ice came down, it stole the air from Emma’s lungs, and she thought: _At least if Regina’s looking for us, dropping a 30-foot frozen barrier is pretty hard to miss._ It took just a few seconds, but the forest whined and rumbled, thudded and shrieked long after the flurry had gone, fallen trees and disturbed undergrowth. There would be some angry squirrels tonight.

“Okay!” Anna half-skipped up the emptied road. “Now can we go back home?”

Emma ran towards her, hand outstretched. “Stop! Don’t take another step! That’s the town line.”

“Right. But I want to leave the town. Didn’t I just say that?”

Emma approached the spray-painted marker on the blacktop slowly. “The wall may be down, but I sense that some of Ingrid’s magic remains.” She eyed the seemingly empty space, reached out slowly for whatever it was that made her scalp prickle. The air rippled where her fingertips connected, membranous and slightly electric.

Emma turned to the sisters, not surprised but worried. “Yeah, leaving this town has never been simple. And Ingrid? She didn’t change things. She wanted to be here alone with you and me; she wanted to make Storybrooke her ice castle, and clearly she wanted to protect it.”

Anna turned to Elsa, distressed. “So how do we get back home?”

“Walking wouldn’t get us there anyway,” Elsa replied softly. “We’re in a different realm.”

“We need to find a portal.” Emma frowned, “Or magic beans or… something.”

Kristoff chimed in, “Okay, now I’m lost.”

“Well, then let’s get one of those things,” Anna stressed, “-- we have to hurry.”

“No, we don’t need to rush, we-- need to be careful. Arendelle will still be there while we figure this out.”

“It might not.” Anna gasped, whipped around to Kristoff. “Did we forget to tell her?”

“A lot of stuff was going on.”

“Tell me what?”

Anna’s voice was strained, reluctant. “Arendelle’s been conquered. …By Hans and his twelve brothers.”

Elsa’s typically serene face sharpened with annoyance, then panicked fear. “Emma -- We need to find a way back. _Now_.”

_Yeah sure, I’ll get right on that. Because dropping magical barriers and finding portals in this town has always been a breeze._

But Emma didn’t want to let Elsa down. She was the person who had been there for her through everything. Instead, Emma hid the difficulty of the request behind stiffly squared shoulders. “We’ll do our best.”

*

Regina unfurled slowly. A blinding glare of sunlight bathed the small clearing in the absence of the ice wall that had towered just a few feet away.

It, like Gold, was gone.

Regina was exhausted. But things could not end like this. She would not let the beast escape. Parts of her believed that Gold would never hurt her son, but it was a thin genetic exception that meant nothing to the rest of Storybrooke. She might not give a damn about most of them, but… _Emma._

And Emma cared about Snow and Charming and baby Neal, and led to Ruby and Granny, who made perfectly acceptable cocoa and coffee; and Henry loved Archie and Pongo, and for some reason Dr Whale, and these linked to others and the list grew and grew until eventually Regina couldn’t think of anyone she would be justified to let die, except maybe a handful of dwarves and a certain shady Blue Fairy.

There was fury in her still, an Evil Queen that demanded to be sated. The Queen warred with an _other_ ; an archaic remnant, something small and shattered, a part of her that ached for something more -- something like redemption.

But Regina was already damned.

There was no room in her tattered heart for both of them.

This was her final challenge, Regina knew that. It rang like a death knell in her chest. If Henry was alive, he was with Emma. The only way they would both be safe was if Gold was disarmed. But that was just the beginning - she had to follow through with her original plan, had to get herself as far away from both of them as possible. She could no longer be trusted. That Gold hadn’t died beneath her beating was a testament to his fortitude, not hers.

She had already desecrated Emma. She would destroy Henry in time.

_What have I become?_

Regina got to her feet. If the ice wall was down, the superfluous blonde must be near. Emma would undoubtedly be with her. They were friends, they-- ‘ _Nothing you could offer me would ever come close to what Elsa has. Not your help, and not your affection.’_

The memory sliced Regina from stomach to sternum; she held at her guts to stop them spilling on the dirt. _It’s better this way._ She didn’t really believe it, but she knew it had to be true.

The Evil Queen’s cold hand caressed Regina’s cheek lovingly, whispered sweet darkness into her mouth and Regina felt the bile in her throat rise to meet it. She swallowed it down, tempered the steel of her shoulders and spine, stiffened and ramrod-straight.

Her map had been lost in the scuffle but she knew where she had to go. Gold might already be there, definitely Henry. Emma would be forced to face her again, and Regina regretted that. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But she had to get to the town line. She had to stop Rumpelstiltskin. She had to say goodbye to her son.

Regina raised her arms.

*

They milled about, uncertain. Emma had no idea where to even start looking for a portal. When Snow suggested they go back to Granny’s for hot cocoa and a long think, it was as good a plan as any - meaning, better than the nothing they currently had.

Anna and Elsa held hands tightly, Kristoff’s arm around the redhead’s small shoulders and Emma knew what it felt like to be stranded in a strange land far from home. She felt a surge of warmth for this odd little town; an unexpected sense of belonging.

“Hey Ma, can I—“ Henry stopped short and Emma turned to see what had happened.

The last wisps of purple smoke dissipated around Regina’s haggard form.

She looked frenzied, damaged; dark circles sapped the warmth from her coffee eyes. The broad white collar of her shirt was stained with blood and her sleeves where they peeked from the end of her tailored black suit jacket. Emma stepped forward in alarm; halted, frozen.

“Mom!” Henry lurched towards her, threw himself at Regina without another thought and while she was clearly stunned to see him, it only took a second before he was wrapped fiercely, completely in her arms.

“Oh, Henry, Henry...”

Voice muffled by her shoulder, he asked, “Are you hurt? You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not mine,” she assured him, though her knuckles were raw and Gold had landed a few harsh blows of his own before she’d trapped him. It didn’t matter.

“What do you mean? Mom, what happened? Where were you? We looked everywhere.” And then, quieter: “Is the blood Emma’s? She’s hiding something--”

“Shhhh…” She rubbed Henry’s back the way she had when he was a child, tried to soothe the both of them; would not let him step away when he tried. Regina buried her face in his hair, breathed in a mix of shampoo and the gel he had started to use just recently, another sign he was becoming a teen and would soon be too independent to hold like this, so close to her chest.

_I won’t be here to see it._

Regina ached, parts of her so badly wounded she knew they would never heal.

_Love is weakness..._

It whispered in the voice of the Evil Queen. Regina ignored it, held her son tighter. A moment was worth it even if it killed her.

“Mom, I can’t breathe…”

Regina loosened her hold, a plaintive smile on her face. “Sorry. I just missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He stared at her, light-hearted then serious, confused. The curse was over. They’d found each other. She should be happier. “Mom, what’s going on? Are you… Are you still…”

_Evil?_

_I will destroy everything I love._

“I’m fine,” she said warmly, but it never touched her eyes. “Henry…” She crouched in front of him, hands a little too tight on his forearms, and caught his hazel eyes, the inherited flecks of dark green. “Henry, something has happened. And I have to go.”

“What? Go where?” Blood rushed through his ears; he sensed something more, he always did. “Mom, you’re not making any sense. What’s happened? What’s going on?”

“That doesn’t matter. I just need you to know… I love you, Henry – so, so much.” Her eyes burned, salted regret spilled onto her cheeks. Henry’s face welled, confusion and fear and a bitter tide crashed through her battered body. “I’m sorry. I love you, and I never planned to leave you, ever – but…” A strangled sob; Regina choked on it, on words too paltry to explain how much she loved him and how sorry she was, for everything.

“Mom, _no_ —”

“Regina?”

It was Elsa -- a snarl curled Regina’s lip. Tall, blonde and redundant was the last person she wanted to hear from right now. But Elsa didn’t let that stop her. Gently, she said, “Regina, there’s a barrier on the town line. If you cross it, you won’t be able to come back.”

“I don’t plan on coming back,” she snapped.

“ _What…?”_ Henry’s distressed voice. Collapse hung heavy on his back – Regina turned terrified eyes to his crumpled face. It was a harsher delivery than she’d intended.

“Henry - I’m so sorry. There’s something I have to do, someone I need to stop to protect you, but then I have to go. I have to leave Storybrooke. It’s not safe here with me, and you’ll have…” the name caught in Regina’s throat, broke her tongue, “…you’ll have _Emma_.”

Mary Margaret pushed in, alarmed: “Regina, this is crazy. It makes no sense – Why would you leave Storybrooke? Who do you have to stop? Surely we can help, I don’t-- Leaving here won’t help anyone, least of all Henry.”

“If I wanted Snow White’s input, I would’ve sent a bird,” Regina spat back archly. Then, more chillingly: “And if you intend on keeping your nose, _dear_ , I wouldn’t go shoving it into my business.”

“You’re still evil…” Henry whispered, his voice tremulous.

Regina wanted to shout _No!_ , but her throat clogged with lies and darkness and she couldn’t go on.

“-- Mom, Grandma’s right – you leaving here won’t help anyone. If the curse—”

“This isn’t about the curse, Henry,” Regina insisted, throat torn -- _Not that curse, just mine._ “I love you, so much, and I’m sorry but I have to go. Just trust—”

“ _Regina..._ ”

It cracked like lightning, rumbled Regina’s bones with thunder, Regina’s eyes wild like a spooked horse. Emma had finally found her voice. And her feet, her ability to function again – Emma strode across the space between them, parted people like waves, Henry caught in an eddy as Regina clung to his shoulders for ballast. “Regina, we need to talk.”

A sentence so small and so simple, murmured quietly because there were things Emma couldn’t say in front of everyone, things they couldn’t talk about here, things she didn’t even have the words for yet. Beneath the careful timbre of her voice, a pitched begging, a mournful need, an anger that grew in intensity when Regina shrank away.

 _The fuck is this? She’s running now?_ It was not supposed to go this way. “Regina?”

It was as if her name in Emma’s mouth hurt Regina. Emma’s brow furrowed tightly between her eyes; confused, exasperated, increasingly pissed – she reached to touch Regina’s forearm and the woman sprang back as though her hand were fire.

Emma stopped. Everything stopped. Even the air choked between them.

Henry, caught in this potent vacuum; Regina’s hands clawed on his shoulders, a step behind him like his body was a shield. His eyes moved rapidly between his mothers, tried to decipher what was going on but there was too much in the silence, too much weight, too much gravity; it whirled and stooped him, suddenly queasy. He managed, so quietly, “Moms…?”

Regina squeezed his shoulders. She leant over him, kissed his cheek, said against his ear, “I love you.”

Before he could say it back, before Emma could throw herself like a linebacker, purple smoke churned the air.

Arms outflung, shoulders tight, Emma shouted at the nothingness, “ _Seriously?_ ”

Blindly, Henry launched himself at Emma’s waist. She wrapped an arm around his bent body, realised it shook because he cried and Emma laid her weary cheek on his head, rubbed his back mindlessly. “Don’t worry kid, this isn’t over.”

“She’s evil again. She’s going to hurt someone and then she’s going to leave.”

“No she’s not.” Emma kissed his hair. “Your mom’s just being an idiot. That’s usually my role, so -- don’t worry, I got this.” She waited until Henry turned wet eyes on her, bleakly hopeful and grinned down at him. “Trust me, kid – Regina’s not going anywhere. She’s not getting out of this that easy.”

“Can you tell me what she did now?”

Emma shook her head. “I can’t, kid. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we find whoever it is Regina thinks she needs to hurt and stop her before she does something really stupid.”

Henry squared his jaw, gathered himself up and for a second he looked so much like Neal that Emma’s throat burned. “Ok - where do we start?”

She smiled proudly at him, sadly. “Henry, I know you want to come with me; I know you want to help Regina but you can’t this time. You just can’t.”

“But—”

“Kid…”

He stopped. He knew it was true. Whether that meant he was going to stay put or at least not meddle, Emma was less sure. But he seemed to accept that his place was not with her right now. “Could you just… Just tell Mom I still have to show her that page. Tell her it’s about Operation Mongoose. It’s important, and she has to see it before she makes any big decisions.”

Emma cocked an eyebrow, viewed him askew. “Operation Mongoose? Is this the thing you two were whispering about at that mansion?” Emma didn’t bother to hide the twinge of jealousy, played it up instead for a smile. “There’s a mission _I’ve_ been left out of, and now you want me pass Regina a note in class? Geez, kid – way to make a girl feel wanted.”

Henry smirked, rolled his eyes and Emma felt better. They could do this. They would be ok.

In the wake of Regina, Mary Margaret stepped forward; now she hovered anxiously around them. “We’ll take him home.”

“Thanks, but there’s no room in your truck. Looks like you might have to walk home with Elsa, kid. I’m gonna need my car.”

Before his eyes lit up too much at the prospect, Anna piped in, “Actually, Hook is gone, so—”

“ _What?_ When?”

“After Regina arrived,” Anna squeaked, hands raised to deflect Emma’s glare. “I didn’t think it was really important at the time. Should we have stopped him?”

Emma forced herself to calm, shook her head. “If Hook’s up to something, we’ll know soon enough. I’ll find him.”

“You don’t think that’s who Regina is after…?” Mary Margaret asked quietly.

“No. If Regina wanted Hook dead, he’d be ash and a hunk of metal right now.”

“It’s Grandpa, isn’t it?” Mary Margaret whipped around and Henry quickly clarified, “Gold, I mean. Mr Gold – that’s who Mom’s after.”

Emma nodded slowly. “Probably, kid. It makes more sense – now that Ingrid’s gone, we’re pretty much back to the usual suspects.”

“Was Gold at the vault during the curse?” Mary Margaret asked. “Did he do something to Regina?”

“Not while I was there. It must’ve happened after she left.” Emma paused, raised her head and locked eyes with Henry.

“The door,” he said first, and she nodded.

Mary Margaret looked to each of them. “What door?”

“Hook opened the door to the Mayor’s office during the curse, the one Regina spelled to protect Henry. We knew he must’ve used magic, but--”

“Gold’s magic?” Mary Margaret frowned. “But Gold hates Hook. And Hook hates Gold - why would they be working together?”

“That’s a _damned_ good question.”

Henry slipped his hand into Emma’s; caught her eyes, their shared urgency. “Go. You have to go. You have to find her.”

Emma smiled, tense and tight-lipped; squeezed his fingers. “Don’t worry kid. Regina isn’t going anywhere. I got this.”

He nodded, clearly believed it far more than she did. “Just remember what I told you -- Tell her about Operation Mongoose. And… tell Mom I love her.”

Emma smiled lopsidedly, tears blurred her eyes. Mary Margaret moved in and took Henry’s free hand, kissed Emma’s cheek before she led him away. Talking Regina off the ledge she had built for herself was gonna be tough. And now that Gold was in the mix, things were exponentially more complicated. _Because of course they fucking are._

Just before Henry and her parents reached the truck, Emma overheard, “Hey Grandma - can I drive?”

Henry’s voice was morose, needy – and utterly manipulative to Emma’s ears. She smirked, tucked her hands into her back pockets and called out: “Nice try, kid. After last time, I think we’re gonna wait ‘til you’re 30. Or whenever Regina says you can drive - so probably never.”

Henry turned and stuck out his tongue, and Emma returned the gesture with juvenile glee. It broke the rigid tension that had settled on her, the enormity of the task that loomed.

When David’s pick-up drove away, Emma took a deep breath, inhaled the sharp scent of pine needles and too-clean air and parts of her dreamt of the choking stench of overripe dumpsters and exhaust fumes. Her back was against the town line and it would be so easy to just take a step, to run and run and keep going until she hit New York and never looked back...

Emma scratched her arm, rolled her shoulders. She pulled her car keys from her jacket pocket.

_No more running._

It was time to find Regina.

*****


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hook regretted this, regretted the cowardice of self-preservation but it was who he was. After 200-odd years, he was still not ready to die. “Something happened. Regina… loves Emma.”_
> 
> _“What?”_
> 
> _“And I believe Emma feels the same way.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read [ Normal [Monsters]](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3798292/chapters/8458396) yet, now might actually be a good time because we're about to get more throwbacks than before. Sorry. But some people seem to think Normal [Monsters] is kinda good?
> 
> PS: I am ignoring the **[vague early 4b spoiler alert?]** ret-conning of Marian's character perpetrated by Season 4b, because screw that. Marian is Marian. (I think her character -and Christie Laing- deserved far more respect than she was shown in canon. So imma give her some here.)

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_11\. [ Find me here ]_**

“Looks like you took quite the beating, mate,” Hook rattled, his heart held dangerously in Gold’s hand. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer Crocodile.”

In the dim light of Gold’s shop, his roughly healed wounds were grotesque. Soon the scars would fade, but right now, before tonight’s ritual, there was only so much magic to spare. Gold sneered, his lips tight. “You told Regina about my plans.”

“No, I—” The pirate clutched his chest as Gold squeezed. “Yes! I told her. She knows everything, you prick!”

“Then once again, you’ve betrayed me,” Gold said lightly. “And in doing so, you’ve rendered yourself useless to my plans. Your services will no longer be needed.”

Gold clenched his fist tighter, tighter, until the rubbery edge of Hook’s heart had no more give. It cracked.

“The Snow Queen’s curse!” Hook heaved, his legs buckled; “she mucked up the border! Once you cross, there’s no coming back…”

“Is that so?” Gold stared down at him, eyes narrowed. “Well, then I have little time to waste.”

“I can distract them for you!” the pirate pleaded, down on one knee, chest a brazier of pain. “Give you more time.”

Gold flexed his fingers. “And how do you propose to do that?”

“Regina – she didn’t tell them what you were up to. At the town line, she just left.”

Gold narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because of _Emma_.” Hook regretted this, regretted the cowardice of self-preservation but it was who he was. After 200-odd years, he was still not ready to die. “Something happened, I don’t know what. But Regina is running. Regina… loves Emma.”

“ _What_?”

“And I believe Emma feels the same way.”

Gold’s hand released almost entirely. He eyed the pirate with suspicion, but not disbelief. “That would make for an _interesting_ turn of events...”

Hook coughed around the dull burn of his lungs. “I can help. I can make sure they’re too distracted chasing each other to interfere with your plans.”

The Dark One smiled. Lamplight glinted off his gold tooth. It was not a future he had foreseen, but then much about the Savior was kept from his purview. “That won’t be necessary. I imagine it will happen on its own.” Gold eyed Belle’s sleeping form. It was time she came back to him. “There is something you will do for me -- a small reprieve on your life then, until tonight when the stars in the sky align with those in the Sorcerer’s hat.”

Hook sneered, asked bitterly, “What will you have me do?”

“You are going to find our friends from Arendelle. Keep them far away from Belle--”

“And by friends, you mean Anna? She knows, doesn’t she? Belle—” Hook gritted his teeth as Gold squeezed and released his heart with malignant satisfaction.

“My wife is going to remain both blissful and ignorant about all of this. Tell the Arendelle trio I will find them a way home.”

Hook choked, “And how do you propose to do that?”

Gold shook his head and slipped Hook’s heart roughly into his coat pocket.

“After tonight, pirate, you won’t need to worry about the details. For both of us, in very different ways - this life will be over.”

*

Regina reappeared, fractured and shaking. Seeing Henry was worse than not seeing him, she knew that now. She fell to one knee, sank backwards onto the wet dirt beside the well-worn path to her father’s tomb. Her tears fell until they ran out, left a stiff dampness to her eyelashes and cheeks as the salt dried - her grief, preserved.

She numbed.

Regina had expected Emma Swan to flee or attack her; a wild brutality. After all, that was how they had always interacted. Until recently, physicality between them meant a knuckled punch to the face, or a forearm pressed tightly against her trachea and those were things Regina had been prepared for. Not the concern. Not the quiet understanding. Not the plea to talk, or a hand that threatened kindness when hers had offered only pain and betrayal.

_What is happening here?_

Anger, rage, retaliation – these were the things Regina was equipped to deal with. Not this compassion. Under no circumstances should Emma Swan feel anything towards her but bitter hatred and a need for revenge. Regina wanted a fight at that town line, needed it. She had tortured Emma, defiled her and those actions deserved retribution.

_Why didn’t Emma strike me? Why didn’t she shove me across the barrier? Why didn’t she at least try to arrest me?_

Emma’s reaction was not just unexpected - it was unacceptable. An ill-defined fury billowed in Regina’s chest -- _How dare she try to understand. How dare she! If she forgives me for this, so help me…_

The Evil Queen boiled inside her, hissed maliciously – _You should have struck her down when you had the chance. Emma Swan will destroy you._

But Regina took comfort in that; in the idea that maybe it was only Henry’s presence that granted her a reprieve at the town line. The time would come when Emma caught up with her, shredded her to pieces, left her as bruised and soul-bloodied as Regina had done to her last night. Regina needed to stop Gold and then she could leave, before Emma did something she regretted if only because Henry would never forgive her for doing it.

Regina’s heels echoed loudly on the tomb’s steps as she ascended. She realised the door and lower entrance to her vault were both wide open and hesitated, though not for long. Her face split into a slow, hungry grin. If Gold was down there, neither of them would make it out alive.

If it was anyone else, they were in for a hell of a fight. Regina was _not_ in the mood.

*

Regina’s Louboutins pinged on the stone like pebbles thrown into a lake. She shouldered the wall as she neared the room where she had captured Emma, kept as far from it as possible, face turned stubbornly away. As she passed, Regina flicked her hand and the doorway knitted shut with stone. If only everything were so easily managed.

Regina hadn’t planned to return here, but there were things she needed now, things for finding Gold’s dagger and an ample supply of emergency goods - clothing and cash, bags she packed years ago knowing one day the peasants might revolt -- with guns.

“Regina?”

Robin Hood’s voice emerged from a room beside her and she openly cringed, rolled her eyes, curled her lip. _Speaking of revolting peasants…_

“Regina, where have you been? I’ve been waiting here since the curse ended.”

“Paris,” she shot snidely, “I had dinner at the Louvre.” Hood looked confused, surly, and Regina snapped: “I was out looking for Henry - what the hell do you want?”

The man checked the empty hall behind her. “Where is he? Is Henry ok?”

Regina relented slightly, nodded, “He’s fine. He’s with Emma. Why are you here, Robin?”

The forest delinquent squared his jaw, his expression once again belligerent. “I came for my _wife_. Now that the curse is broken, you said she would be fixed. I want you to return her heart.”

Regina eyed his corrugated brow, the permanent sneer and wondered what she had ever seen in him. He looked nothing like a Happy Ending. _Never trust a fairy_. She turned on her heel, dismissed him and started down the hall again. “Later. Right now, I’m busy.”

The hand on her arm was quick and tight; Hood whipped her around and Regina’s fingertips crackled. “You will do this for me, Regina,” he growled into her face. “You owe this to me.”

“I owe you _nothing_ ,” she spat, and let the spark of her fireball show.

Hood released her but did not step back. Muscle worked thickly over his teeth. “Fine. Don’t do it for me, then - do it for Marian. Marian deserves a second chance from you. And Roland -- If any goodness is left in you, you will give my son back his mother.”

_There is nothing left in me but echoes and darkness._

But Roland’s face smiled sweetly into Regina’s mind, his dark eyes and the dimples she could fall into and while she would set Robin Hood on fire in a heartbeat, she could never deny his child this happiness.

The Evil Queen agreed with her silence.

“Fine. Give me a minute.”

Regina had forgotten about the box with Marian’s heart in it before she sealed the room where she had held Emma. Regina backtracked unwillingly, unstitched the stone just enough to thrust her hand inside; grabbed the box and retreated as though burned. Her chest crashed in waves, breath hot and heavy in her mouth and she all but ran back down the hall to the room where Marian lay defrosted on a pallet, perfectly still.

Regina felt a small amount of trepidation about her next move, but it had nothing to do with her former relationship with Hood. Magic in this world was unpredictable, and Regina had removed the woman’s heart on little more than a glorified hunch. Now Regina thrust the red, glowing ember roughly through the woman’s ribcage and hoped she had been right.

A second later, Marian gasped. Robin Hood gathered his wife into his arms. As the couple held each other tightly, something twinged in Regina’s chest. She didn’t belong here.

_I will never have this. I don’t deserve it._

_Villains don’t get Happy Endings._

Regina left quietly. She had work to do.

*

Regina fashioned herself a bunker out of books and clothing and hunkered down with a watchful eye. There was a particular passage she needed, but she couldn’t remember where she’d read it. Pages rustled and flipped under the flush of magic, a search function that would make Google blush at its own inadequacy.

Calm had settled over her; a finality. Between the books and the bags, all the ingredients for her stealthy escape were here.

_It will be quiet soon._

For decades before this, Regina had poured over the lore of the Dark One. She had eventually given up after she realised every documented case was the same: Anybody who tried to control the beast, failed horribly. But Regina didn’t need to control him. All she wanted was a way to locate the dagger.

It was easier to find than most people thought – the danger came in wielding the Dark One’s Dagger. Regina simply needed to interfere with its placement, to delay Gold long enough that his plans would fail. Belle, or Emma, or the two idiots could handle the rest in time – it didn’t matter. By then Regina would be gone and Rumpel would be stuck here, as bound as ever to the last magical port in this land.

Henry would be safe. Emma would be with him. The Evil Queen would be gone.

“Regina…?”

She startled at Marian’s voice; turned her head to the woman curved around the stone doorway, hands clutched at the base of the voussoir.

“-- We’re leaving now.”

Regina stared for a moment; nodded curtly and turned back to the leafed movement of her books.

“I just… I wanted to say thank you, for saving my life. Twice, actually...”

Regina refolded an already perfectly packed shirt to keep her hands busy. “Forget it.”

“I can’t.” Marian stepped into the room. She nervously smoothed her hair, her voluminous dress. “And I know Robin--” Marian sighed, fell silent. Her fingers were entwined so tightly her knuckles showed pink. “I thought maybe Robin had chosen me, but… I think maybe you didn’t choose him.”

Regina said nothing. She waved her hand over a pile of completed books and they moved aside as another pile shuffled in, and the dry flick of pages sounded again. Marian nodded to herself and turned to leave.

“Marian, wait...” It tore from Regina’s mouth before she knew what she wanted to say. The woman looked so desolate, and Regina couldn’t stand it anymore. “Robin Hood…” She cleared her throat. “Your husband is an… honourable man. He always loved you. He would have chosen you in the end.”

Marian smiled and bitter sadness coated her lips. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Regina couldn’t bring herself to try again. “Well, that doesn’t matter. The three of you will be together again, and you will find happiness.” She muttered, “It’s in the Book…”

“The book?”

Regina ignored her. Marian hesitated, nodded - they had each reached their limits of forced congeniality. But Marian found herself asking a question she hadn’t meant to. “Regina… Who did you choose?”

“What?” Blackened eyes narrowed at Marian’s audacity.

“Instead of Robin -- I can tell you chose someone else. Can I ask who it was?”

_It was darkness._

Regina sneered, drawled acidly, “You forget, Marian – I’m evil. Evil doesn’t choose love. It always chooses power.”

Marian shook her head, spoke as the information Regina searched for appeared. Regina half-listened, marked the page and pushed the tome into her deceptively expensive duffel bag.

“Regina, you saved me from that ice beast when you didn’t have to. I saw the way Robin looks-- _looked_ at you; and my son - Roland adores you, and the rest of this town... I don’t think you’ve been evil for a very long time.”

Regina gathered up her bag and her car keys; stood too closely to the woman’s recoiled form. She smiled coldly, broadly, all glinted teeth and brittle darkness. “What can I say? I’m making a _comeback_.”

Regina pushed past Marian and strode away.

*

Gold leant against the wrought iron fence and watched as the Apprentice’s broomstick came to life. It had bathed in the sweat of Henry’s hands, the toil and crude intention of the Truest Believer - between that and his virile magic, Gold had no doubt it would find what he wanted.

The broom sprang into walking, and Gold followed it up the stone steps and through the door of the Sorcerer’s mansion. Belle had no idea what she’d found when she brought him here. It was the kind of fate he exploited with glee.

The animated broom crossed the glass and crystal-littered parquet floor, cracked its knobby fingers and raised its arms. Beneath the empty hook that once held an elaborate chandelier - razed by Emma Swan’s unfettered magic during Gold’s last attempted capture of her – several decoratively patterned wood panels appeared, blue, brown and red; they sprang into stark relief and formed a door. It was the portal he’d been looking for.

“There.” Gold chuckled to himself, a needy, twisted smile. “There.” He approached it, ran a hand covetously across its smooth surface, the promise it held. It was more than he could have hoped - yet less than he currently needed.

Regina was tight on his heels, and Gold had another plan to keep her occupied. He pulled the dagger from under his waistcoat and ran a manicured nail over his imprinted name. Dirt and blood, skin and salt flecked onto the floor, the crusted debris of time -- It should be just enough to attract Regina, a beacon of sorts.

_And as Regina goes, so goes Emma Swan…_

Gold smiled obscenely at the unexpected beauty of the Author’s endgame. It put the Evil Queen and the Savior together, and that allowed Gold to eliminate all of his problems at once.

“I will best you yet, writer,” he announced, and it reverberated through the Main Hall. “This Villain will get his Happy Ending.”

As Gold left, he twisted on the terracotta tiles outside the mansion’s door, raised his arms and a crimson web of magic danced across the structure’s facade.

He whistled, buoyant as he limped away.

*

Crouched so far forward in the driver’s seat of her yellow bug that she could barely steer, Emma’s eyes darted constantly from windscreen to rear-view mirror, side window to back. Fuck what lay ahead - it wasn’t safe, she knew that. But Emma didn’t care. She had to find Regina. It had gone beyond a fucking joke.

She had planned to go straight to Gold’s shop but immediately found herself driving deeper into the forest and she didn’t know why, only that she had a sense of Regina. That sense had served her well in the past. She’d learned to listen.

A flash in her peripheral vision slammed her foot onto the brake and the bug screeched loudly, skidded to a halt. Emma had her door open and one boot on the tarmac before the shudder ended.

“REGINA?”

Leaves rustled. The approaching dusk sucked colour from the world. Emma leant her arm over the bug’s open door and was about to call again when Marian appeared. A scowling Robin Hood emerged soon after, tiny Roland in tow. Emma tried to hide her disappointment, but knew the stiffness of her smile betrayed her.

“Marian! You’re awake,” Emma forced brightly. “And not… all blue and frosty.”

The woman smiled, a healthy glow to her caramel skin. “The curse is over. Regina gave me back my heart.”

“You’ve seen her? When? Where? Is she…” Emma scanned the forest behind them, tilted her head like Pongo; did nothing to hide the tensed urgency she felt.

“We were at her vault. We left a little while ago--”

Emma was already back in the bug, its angry idle whined when her foot nudged the accelerator.

“-- But you won’t find her there!” Marian announced. “She left before we did.”

Emma paused, gritted her teeth, growled to herself. _Of course she did._

Hood’s arms were crossed, a darker cloud than usual on his perpetually constipated face and Emma sneered at him through the glass -- _The hell is your problem?_

Marian turned, examined her husband closely, the locked bones of him and something clicked into place. She placed a hand on his stiffened bicep and murmured quietly, “Why don’t you and Roland go ahead? I’ll catch up. It will be dark soon.”

It took a second before Hood tore his jaundiced eye from Emma; nodded at his wife and kissed her sparingly. Roland waved enthusiastically at Emma as his father led him away, and she returned it with a goofy hand. _Damn that kid is cute..._ She missed Henry.

Marian’s face was filled with a strange longing as she watched her family go. When dark eyes turned on Emma, they were critical, searching; and in her smile, almost sadness. “It was you. Wasn’t it? Regina chose you.”

“I don’t--” Emma fidgeted, squeezed the steering wheel with both hands. “What are you talking about?”

Marian merely nodded. She’d seen it in the way her husband glared at Emma, the territorial pissing of his ridged spine. This was why Regina had forgotten about him. It made perfect sense - the woman was cocky and beautiful.

Marian had sensed frisson between Emma and Regina that first night at Granny’s Diner, but she’d thought it was antagonism, enmity. Not that those things necessarily excluded love. Now it was evident, though from the uncomfortable tightness in Emma’s shoulders, maybe not to everyone.

“She was going through a lot of old books,” Marian said softly. “I looked after she left – they were all about ‘The Dark One’? And, ah… a dagger?” Emma’s sharp nod told Marian that she understood what that meant, even though Marian didn’t.

Before Emma closed the bug’s door, Marian stopped her; bent down and caught dark green eyes. She smiled kindly. “She loves you, you know. She must. Robin was meant to be her Happy Ending. I saw the way they looked at each other - he loved her too. He still does, I think -- but Regina… It’s just not there anymore.”

“Marian—”

“There was a darkness to her,” Marian continued. “She said she was evil, but it didn’t feel right. She wasn’t the same as the Evil Queen. Just… lost, maybe?” Marian’s eyes were faraway; she shook herself from her reverie. “Anyway, I’m not sure where she went. But she took a full bag and a set of car keys with her. Does that help?”

“Yeah, it does,” Emma said warmly, but wasn’t really sure. _I should’ve LoJacked her Merc years ago._

As the woman straightened, Emma rushed: “Marian, wait. About… about all this, could you-- Could you maybe not…” She stopped, stared back out through the windscreen, done.

_Don’t tell anyone; don’t tell them how I feel, I don’t know how I feel; I don’t know if Regina— What the hell? What even is this? How do I—What if—What--_

It could all end so badly.

Marian nodded - Emma saw the movement peripherally but couldn’t bring herself to turn. She was embarrassed and afraid, confused and angry; so many things all at once and she didn’t understand, didn’t understand why she felt them or why it was always Regina that worked her up like this. Right from the beginning it had been this way and Emma was so tired of it, tired of the running and the chasing and the fighting when she didn’t really know half the time what she was even fighting for. Except…

 _The scent of Dolce and Gabbana and spiced apples, the glint of fire roiled through dark chocolate eyes, the almost black and violet spark of anger; the rasped, raw-sex cadence of Regina’s voice when it rolled over ‘_ Miss Swan’, _the bloodied-knuckle fight in her for Henry, the impossibly satin slide of her skin; the slick, tart taste between the untamed buck of her thighs…_

Marian closed the bug’s door quietly, aware Emma had already gone.

The blonde focused on the road, everything so vivid around her with her pupils blown wide. Emma said “Thanks,” but her voice was disconnected, and she dropped the car into gear.

Marian watched until the strange yellow vehicle disappeared around a corner, then started down the road after her family.

*

Regina found her way back to her abandoned Merc and drove to the last place she’d seen the Dark One. The book was very clear about what she needed, and while the boulder she had trapped Gold under was uselessly blackened by magic, the leaf-litter around it was still tacky with his blood.

An incantation in Elvish poured a painful shock of power through Regina’s palm, tinted a garish crimson, a colour she’d only ever associated with Rumpelstiltskin. It helped her to focus on his name, on the image of raised letters emblazoned across the dagger’s hilt.

There was supposed to be a _Great Reveal_ – the book had promised as much. But then, it was written centuries ago by an unknown someone who, from the text, seemed rather full of their own importance. So Regina wasn’t too surprised when the ‘great reveal’ turned out to be a vaguely reddish cloud that hovered over a not-too-distant point in the sky. She almost missed it against the first blush of sunset.

Back in her car, Regina quickly realised the road she followed was familiar. She had traversed it just days ago under very different circumstances. It led to the mansion perched over a previously unknown section of Storybrooke, where she had discovered Emma Swan paralytic with uncontrolled magic. Regina’s foot eased off the pedal so much that her old car shuddered and stalled on the rise.

She didn’t think she could go back there. It was where they had kissed, had lost themselves in each other so carelessly, so recklessly, an innocence tainted by what Regina had done.

But that was why also she had to go there.

_I need to stop Gold. I need to save Henry. I need to protect Emma._

_And I have to leave._

Regina dropped the Merc into neutral and re-started it, re-geared and it roared up the hill.

*

There was no brass bell to announce Henry’s arrival because Belle already had removed the twisted vestiges for repair, but he pushed open the shop door hard enough that it banged loudly against the wall, startled Belle from her battle with an overstuffed suitcase.

“Henry!...”

“Grandma, have you seen my Mom?”

Belle cringed when she realised _she_ was Grandma. That had to stop. “No, I haven’t -- Henry, what’s wrong?”

He breathed heavily. He’d run here from Granny’s, slipped away from the dejected gathering of Arendelle’s lost souls under the guise of going to the bathroom. He didn’t have long. “What about Grandpa – have you seen him?”

“Rumpel? Not since he woke me up a little while ago…” Mildly concerned, Belle leant over the countertop, hands on its far edge. “Henry, take a breath. Calm down, and just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I think—” Henry gulped air, swallowed against his cold-dried mouth. “I think Gold and Mom are fighting again.”

Belle was sceptical, confused, “He didn’t say anything before he left. Why do you think they’re fighting? What about? How bad is it?”

Henry opened his mouth; stopped. Reluctantly, he admitted, “I don’t know. But something must’ve happened after the curse, because my mom -- she came to the town line and she was really upset, and Emma—”

That roused Belle. “Emma’s after Rumpel?”

“Well, no… At least, not yet. Mostly she’s looking for my Mom…” Henry could see he was losing her. But he knew he was right, knew the Evil Queen and Rumpelstiltskin must be fighting again; knew that it was bad enough that Regina thought she had to give up everything just to save him. There was no way she’d leave him otherwise, just no way.

Henry changed tack as something else sprang to mind. He should’ve started with it, but implored now, “Grandpa was working with Hook! He gave Hook magic so that he could break me out of Town Hall during the curse.”

“Henry, that doesn’t make any sense,” Belle soothed. “Rumpel hates Hook. I really can’t see them working together.” She gave up on the stubbornly unlatched suitcase she wrangled and rounded the counter to find a better piece of luggage.

“I know! I know it makes no sense, but that means something really is going on - something bad. Something my mom cares about so much she might…” Henry trailed off, because he couldn’t say it. Saying out loud that Regina was going to leave him made it too real.

“Henry…” Belle scaled an old wooden ladder, perched there and rummaged through piles of junk atop the cluttered shelves. “Look, Regina and Rumpel have… they have a very long history. But he didn’t say anything about it to me, and I’m his wife, so I think I would know.”

She glanced briefly down on Henry’s fallen face and tried to make it better, for both of them. “I trust Rumpel. And I really don’t think there’s anything you need to worry about,” she assured him, and then went back to her search. “Let Emma handle things. Rumpel will be back soon - you can ask him about it then.”

Henry finally acknowledged the suitcase on the countertop filled past bursting. “Wait - are you taking a trip?”

“Uh, yeah. Rumple’s taking me to New York for our honeymoon.”

“But the Snow Queen left a spell on the town line. Anyone who goes can’t return. He didn’t tell you?”

“N-No, he-- He didn’t. Maybe Rumpel doesn’t know.” Belle paused at that; quickly shook off her twinged suspicion. “Anyway, I’m sure he would have a way of removing it.” She finally spotted a leather handle through the litter and gave it a triumphant tug.

“My mom said she was going to—” Everything fell suddenly from the shelf above Henry, rained down with antique junk and he all but drowned in it.

Belle squeaked, reached out uselessly after the flow and jumped off the ladder. “Henry, are you okay? Sorry…”

“Yeah. I’m ok. Nothing too heavy.” He rubbed his head against the dull ache, bent down and collected the gauntlet that had luckily only glanced his skull. “I’m just glad your aim isn’t better.”

“… _Oh_ …”

Henry heard the weirdness in Belle’s voice, stared at the thing he held – it was lightly oxidised, an age-dirtied glove of carefully wrought metal but there was nothing special about it that he could see. Clearly Belle thought otherwise. “Grandma, what’s wrong?”

“It’s _Belle_ , please,” she said stiffly, then took the gauntlet from him. “It’s-- I just didn’t expect to see…  Henry, you need to go.”

He eyed her suspiciously, then the glove – Henry couldn’t figure out where either fit in. “Is this about Gold and my mom? Is this why they’re fighting?”

“No, Henry -- Go and find your Grandma. Your… _other_ grandma. I need to talk to Rumpel.”

“But—”

“Henry…” Belle warned, her voice uncharacteristically hard. Henry resisted, but she scooted him out the door with firm hands.

Once they were both out in the cold, Belle ignored Henry’s further pleas and powered off down the street. She still held the gauntlet. Henry hung his head and kicked out at the gutter, then shuffled himself dejectedly back to Granny’s.

*

Emma discovered the Merc’s tracks on the muddied shoulder of a remote road, a decent hike away from Regina’s vault. She checked the directionality of the tyre markers, pulled out her council-issued tourist map which looked like it was drawn in 1943 and was about to tear out a chunk of her own hair when something else caught her eye.

At first she thought the pinkish smear was a contrail caught by the declining sun, but quickly realised it itched at her magic senses too much to be just that. This was something else, something unnatural, a non-precipitous cloud formation but magic-ier. _Didn’t teach me about that in science class…_

Emma was back in her car in a heartbeat, and while she couldn’t see the cloud anymore, she felt it. Every time the bug angled away from that point, the air fizzed around her until she was back on track. It was the weirdest sat nav she’d ever followed, and Emma had once stolen a car that gave directions in the voice of Gilbert Gottfried.

The road wound and rose steadily. Emma had only the vaguest sense of where she was until her bug crested the hill, and she recognised the sprawled roof of the mansion she’d fallen apart in just a few days ago. The bug gathered speed under her anxious foot, and then Emma saw the sleek black body of Regina’s Merc parked beside a formidable iron fence and Emma knew this was the place.

Once again, the mansion would be where it all came to a head. Good or bad, she and Regina would talk, put a name or an end to… whatever this was.

Emma pulled the bug in behind the Merc, stepped calmly out onto the gravel – and nearly puked all over herself. She swallowed the urge down through sheer force of will; leant heavily against the bug’s yellow paintwork, hands tight on its roof and Emma pressed her suddenly hot forehead to the cold metal. She breathed too shallowly and too fast to avoid the spots that glittered behind her eyelids and the rushed buzz of static in her ears. _Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’tpassoutdon’t—_

Emma didn’t. But she needed a minute. So many minutes.

She’d found Regina.

_The fuck am I gonna do now?_

*****


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Two nights ago in this old mansion, Emma had thought maybe she’d glued herself back together. She’d found something in Regina, something that felt real and strange and strong. It terrified her, but for the first time in longer than she remembered, she’d felt whole. She needed that, needed this and she still didn’t know what this was but she wasn’t prepared to lose it again."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took an unexpected turn... These characters do as they please, really. I find it best not to stand in their way ;)
> 
> PS: I'm doing my best with posting, but it's slam comp season here, so things are hectic. Thanks for your kudos and patience. #24/7writerslyf

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_12\. [ Under these broken pieces ]_ **

In the mansion’s Main Hall, Regina had been distracted by the portal door. What lay beyond it she at least partly deduced from a few runes on the back, but she could not fathom why it was just sitting here, unprotected and unused. _What are you up to, Gold?_

She reached out and ran her fingertips over the elaborate wood panels. They were cold to the touch.

“Regina, stop!” Emma’s boots crunched heavily as she ran towards her, hands outstretched. “--Whatever you’re planning on doing, don’t!”

“I wasn’t _planning_ anything, Miss Swan.” Regina’s staccato heartbeat roared in her ears, throat constricted, flailing panic and brutal despair. She hid it all behind a dark cloud of irritation. “Why on earth would I want to go through a portal to Arendelle?”

Emma slowed, momentarily distracted. “Is that what this is?”

“Well it’s a ridiculous place to install a door.”

Emma stared at the side of Regina’s face for a long, uncomfortable time before she snapped, “What the _hell_ is your problem?”

“You are my problem, Miss Swan,” she snarled. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Henry?”

“Henry’s with my parents--”

“He isn’t safe!”

“ _Why_?” Emma stormed at her, needed Regina to look at her for more than two seconds. “What the hell is going on? Who are you after? Is it Gold? Dammit, Regina—” she clamped her hand around the brunette’s arm “-- Talk to me!”

At the touch, magic screamed through Regina, crackled and spat into Emma’s fist until she tore it away from the burn. The Evil Queen laughed into Regina’s dry throat -- and the minute she lost that control, Regina knew it was over. She despised running, hated that she had done it all day but right now she was incendiary, lethal and it would only get worse. She had to escape.

Emma saw it coming, the cornered-animal look in her eyes, the way her body twitched, recognised the signs she so often displayed herself. She growled, “Regina, if you poof outta here, so help—” Her sentence cut short when Regina flourished.

In a haze of purple smoke, Emma finally lost it. “God. Fucking. DAMMIT. You piece of—” She kicked the wooden door, over and over and over -- _I won’t chase her again_ \-- kicked it so viciously that it should have splintered into pieces but this was a magic portal. Emma’s toe broke first; sharp pain radiated up her leg and drove her to the ground.

The tiniest bones always hurt so damned much.

On her side, Emma breathed shallowly, leg held tightly, eyes scrunched against leaked tears and she hoped numbness would overtake the pain. Through her daze, Emma barely registered the loud crash in a room above her. She wanted to strangle Regina, to drown her in a sink, wanted to beat her to death with her own torn-off limbs – anything violent and final. _I am so fucking done._

Then the sound again; Emma really heard it this time, the tumbled scrape of roughly moved furniture. And maybe Regina hadn’t left yet, because she’d come here for a reason…

“REGINA?”

It hurt to call out as though Emma’s lungs were connected directly to her foot and she swore again, a muted “ _Fuck”;_ fingers clenched around her ankle to kill the nerves. She needed to get up, to investigate; needed to find—

White magic tore through Emma’s fingers and then the pain was gone.

Nothing had ever felt quite so amazing as this sudden absence. As Emma’s lungs filled gloriously with gulped breath, expelled in giddiness, she finally understood the allure of magic. _This stuff is freakin’ Awesome._

Emma lay on the floor like a snow angel in the shattered crystal and glass of her previous encounter with magic and Regina -- It was only a few nights ago, but so much had changed. Another clattered bang sounded overhead. Emma pushed to her feet and ran from the hall.

*

Regina appeared in a strange room, not outside as she’d intended. It wasn’t like her to get that wrong. Disoriented, she stumbled against a pile of furniture stacked almost to the roof and it teetered sideways, crashed heavily to the floor. She was in some sort of winter storage room, the frivolity of the rich, and she recognised the style of fittings enough to know she was probably still in the old mansion.

Regina wondered if the spell she cast to find Rumpel’s dagger had drawn her back. She didn’t remember reading such a thing, but then she had been so focused on information about finding it she hadn’t checked the text much further. Regina shook it off, set her mind to a hurried search of the room. The dagger must be here somewhere.

The heavy tread of Emma’s boots grew louder as she neared, and every fibre of Regina glared, prepared for round two.

As Emma pushed through the doorway, she hissed, “Do that again Regina, and so help me I will set your goddamn house on fire.”

Head in a drawer, Regina asked wryly, “Then where will you live with Henry?”

The blonde sputtered to a halt. “Are you…” A choked question that ended in a squeak, “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

Regina shot upright. Slowly she turned. Deadpan, as though Emma were particularly slow, “ _I_ won’t be there, Miss Swan.” She turned away again, dismissed her. “I already told you, I’m leaving.”

Emma’s rage rekindled. “No Regina, you don’t get to leave, that is not how this works; if you’re mad at me about something, then we’re gonna talk about it. That’s what adults do.”

“How would you know what adults do?”

“… Excuse me?”

With her head and hands back in a drawer, Regina mumbled, “You’re a child.”

“I’m--”

“All you eat is bear claws and grilled cheese. You play more video games than Henry.”

“I’m tryna get good, I’m still learning--” Emma narrowed her eyes, realised Regina was trying to distract her; she reclaimed her anger, stomped through the piles, as close as she dared get. “Regina, I’m trying to talk to you, and you’re the one who keeps running away from me and hiding like some two-year-old who doesn’t wanna do bath time.”

Regina ignored that, rummaged through another chest of drawers like she was looking for a favourite shirt and Emma’s urge to punch her rose again. “ _Really?_ You’re seriously ignoring me? Goddamit, Regina...” Emma grabbed her shoulders and pulled her around.

Fight flared through Regina again, her sneered mouth and clenched teeth, in the swirled viciousness of her eyes but if Emma had learned anything over the past few days it was that there was more to their arsenal now than fistfights and violence.

It wasn’t Emma’s initial plan, but she tugged Regina ruthlessly in, conquered her mouth with a kiss that seared and burned. The cold line of Regina’s lips gave way to the startled heat of her open mouth, and Emma fought fiercely with her tongue. She shoved Regina back against the chest of drawers, crashed their bodies together and battled through Regina’s clothes for skin; under her tailored jacket, dragged the white shirt from the waistband of Regina’s pants and slid her hand underneath. Emma’s short nails scraped along the curve of Regina’s hip, a glissando up over her ribs until her knuckles grazed the underside of Regina’s breast and Emma moaned into her mouth, palmed the satin and lace with fevered purpose.

There was no melting.

It was like she held a statue, Regina’s body wet cement that barely yielded to Emma’s fingers and Emma stopped, pulled back just enough to see her face. It was shuttered, bleak eyes welled with darkness - something was very wrong. Emma searched the shadows for clarity, murmured, “Regina?”

Regina wouldn’t look at her. Her sight was fixed on a far point on the vaulted ceiling. Regina knew how this went -- Emma had to take something back. It had to be taken from her. Regina had been on both sides of this power, and though her mind screamed for her to fight, she tamped it down. _I deserve this. If nothing else, it might make us even…_

Regina capitulated. She withdrew.

Emma had stepped back to give Regina space to breathe but the brunette didn’t seem to notice because she wasn’t doing that, not properly, just an occasional wrenched gulp which shuddered through her. “Regina? Hey…” Panicked, Emma searched for her in the strange lines of her face, the pad of her thumb stroked ice from Regina’s cold shoulder but Regina had retreated, shut down.

_What the fuck did I do? What have I done?_

Emma bit at her bruised lip so hard she tasted blood. Throwing herself at Regina was probably not the best idea she’d ever had, but she hadn’t thought it would be the worst. _Impetuous, impulsive, idiotic…_ Emma ignored the voice because it wasn’t helpful. She’d just wanted to skip the middle part, the part where they fought and overanalysed and talked too much because it was the part she didn’t like. Emma wasn’t good at it.

Now, Emma had to do _something_ , to fix whatever had fractured even though she wasn’t sure what they’d had in the first place that was really together -- It was all shattered pieces, they were shattered pieces, both so broken and breaking each other over and over again. Emma didn’t want that. She didn’t know what she wanted, but it wasn’t that.

Two nights ago in this old mansion, Emma had thought maybe she’d glued herself back together a little. She’d found something in Regina, something that felt real and strange and strong. It terrified her, but for the first time in longer than she remembered,  Emma had almost felt whole. She wanted that, needed this and she still didn’t know what this was but she wasn’t prepared to lose it again.

Maybe Regina needed it too.

Emma had fucked things in the vault, she knew that - she’d said some fucked up things, and both of them had done some fucked up things but at least Regina had been the Evil Queen. Emma needed to remind her, to let her know everything had happened that way because of Ingrid’s curse. They had so little, yet so much left to lose.

_This could all end so badly._

Emma tucked a hand into her pocket. Having to talk about this stuff made her surly. “Listen Regina… I know I said some shitty things in your vault but none of it was true, you’ve gotta know that -- It was the curse, y’know? Elsa and I, we needed you to hate me so your magic would work and if you’re gonna keep punishing me for that--”

“ _Punishing_ you?” Regina’s eyes were suddenly on her - they burnt, crackled and curled like singed leaves. “I’m not _punishing you_ for what you said in that vault, Emma. I’m…” Everything hit Regina all at once, crashed and broke, sucked the shifting sand from beneath her feet and she strangled out, “I think I’ve punished you enough...”

Emma reached out but Regina never fell, just teetered slightly - then warned her back with one outflung hand.

Emma circled the flare-lit edge of fight or flight and pleaded: “It was the curse, ok? I know that - what happened in the vault, it wasn’t you. Yeah, some of it went kinda too far and I’m really not into people slapping me, it’s just not my thing, but… You were the Evil Queen, and I was…” She shrugged her shoulders helplessly, “I don’t know… You can’t be mad at me for that, what we did—”

“What _we_ did?” Incredulous, dumbfounded, Regina shook her head. “Emma— What _I_ did to you--” _I am Evil_. A sob threatened, rolled through Regina’s chest and she swallowed it down. “I took something from you, something I had no right—”

“Hey, I could’ve stopped you.” Emma said it brazenly, harshly, because Regina’s mix of self-pity and arrogance had pissed her off. Regina wasn’t the only one in that vault, wasn’t the only person affected by that curse and fucked if Emma would let her act like she was. “I could’ve left at any time.”

Regina scoffed, unable to stop herself. “No, you couldn’t. I had you tied to a wall.”

“Yeah, by magic…” Emma’s chin tilted arrogantly. “But I broke your containment spell, I left the door to that vault wide open - I’ve stopped your magic before. I could’ve done it this time.”

Regina couldn’t find purchase on their conversation, she slipped in the murky depths of _What is going on here?_ and _How is this happening?_ ; honestly wondered if she had fallen through a portal into a strange mirrored universe where consequences ceased to exist. As she reeled, the Evil Queen reared her head, sniffed the air suspiciously. She sneered and it showed on Regina’s face. “There is no way—”

“I could’ve stopped you,” Emma said again, a pointed finality. She waited with narrowed eyes. Regina was visibly uneasy, a ridged set to her shoulders and Emma didn’t know what it meant, but she’d keep pushing until she found out. “I guess, I didn’t really try...”

 _You should’ve killed her when you had the chance!_ the Evil Queen roared. _It was a trick - this is a trick! She’s stalling for something. Strike her down! Show her exactly what you’re capable of!_

But Regina choked out, “ _What?_ ”

Emma was tight-lipped, uncomfortable with the admission she danced around. She stared at her boots, scuffed unseen dirt from the wooden floor.

In Emma’s silence, Regina went on raggedly, an accusation she hadn’t meant to level: “Why didn’t you then? You knew what would happen if you stayed, you knew who I was. If you thought you could go, _why didn’t you_?”

“I dunno…” Emma shrugged, a strained pitch to her voice, defensive. “…Maybe I didn’t want to.”

Regina’s expression was just as Emma feared – shocked, horrified and Emma pushed on, rushed, “Hey, you don’t get to judge me for that. You can’t blame me for being…” Emma fumbled for words behind her heated cheeks “…caught up in the moment, or whatever - you can’t be mad at me for that.”

“You think--” Regina checked what she’d heard, abjectly disbelieved it. “You think I’m mad, because you _liked_ what happened?”

“Not all of it, just--” Emma caught herself, addressed the actual question. “Yeah maybe. You’re not?”

Exasperated sound was all Regina managed. The rest lodged in her pharynx, and she muttered to herself drily, almost comically, “I don’t even know how to respond to that…”

She didn’t. Everything Regina had done to Emma in that vault had cleft her with its viciousness, its damaging permanence. She had taken so much from Emma. It never for a second occurred to her that Emma thought she had taken something too.

Emma stepped in then, as close as she could get to Regina without touching. In the fraction of space between them, electricity pulsed; Emma breathed against the taut silence of Regina’s mouth, her stilted air. “So does this mean you’re not mad? Because I’m not mad…” Emma reached out very carefully, and no one ran so she brushed dark strands of Regina’s hair from her face, fingertips grazed her cheek. Slowly, Emma leant in… “I guess we’re--”

Regina’s eyes narrowed to pinpoints. She jerked away from Emma’s touch. “We’re not doing this.”

Regina stepped back and poofed away.

Emma stumbled into a purple cloud, coughed and wheezed, stunned.

*****

****

**_13\. [ I am no good without you ]_ **

Regina was angry - livid when she found herself still in the old mansion. At least this time she’d made it to the entrance. She would come back for the dagger when Emma was gone, but for now she wanted out. _She cannot forgive me, I could never forgive—_

A roughly flung arm threw open the front door and Regina strode out - straight into an acidic web of magic. It caught at her face and arms, sparked and singed, sputtered out like plasma but the pain lingered, forced her back through the entranceway.

_A trap! The Savior did this - she lied! She always lies! It was a distraction…_

Regina clawed the ash from her skin. This was definitely not from the spell she had cast but she knew it was not from Emma Swan. This magic felt calculated, complex, a dark power with a bitter aftertaste.

_Gold._

_What have you done, you leprous toad?_

Instinctively Regina summoned a fireball; snuffed it out. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction however remote - there would be so many reciprocal layers built into his web that it would only hurt her to try.

Regina had come here to slow Rumpel down and this was where it had gotten her. There would be no easy way to stop him. She seethed, pounded her fists on the thinly plastered wall, left dents there -- _If I had just disappeared when I had the chance…_

Regina knew she should have left the minute she realised Gold wasn’t out to hurt her son. Henry was safe, and if she’d ignored everyone else and let Gold do as he pleased, she could have shrivelled away in a cheap motel with the clothes on her back and maybe a nice change of pyjamas, just her withered heart to keep her up those last few nights.

In her head, the Evil Queen laughed -- _But then, this was never about Henry,_ the Queen taunted. _I was never after the boy…_

It was true. Henry hadn’t made this unmanageable. The curse had taken him from Regina, she’d never hurt her son. Without Emma Swan, Regina would never have had a reason to leave. Perhaps the Snow Queen’s curse would have passed without incident, Regina locked away in her vault until it broke and she and Henry returned to a normal life, or as normal it ever was in Storybrooke.

_‘What we did…’_

Once upon a time, Regina had created herself a perfectly acceptable world - her Curse, her son, a little revenge. It was tedious and inane and boring but it was hers and it was all she had needed. And then, Emma Swan.

_‘I’ve stopped your magic before…’_

The woman defied explanation, she was beyond control, would not fit into anything Regina had crafted so carefully for herself and now, just when she’d thought it was all done--

_‘I could’ve stopped you; I could’ve left at any time...’_

Regina whipped the air with sharp hands, loosed her fury on the remnants of this place, on the solace she had offered Emma Swan and the comfort she had found here. Maybe if she razed it to the ground, none of it mattered.

The front door slammed; glass and crystal swirled and stuttered across the floor. Debris rose in a flurried tornado, hurled at broken bookshelves and twisted light fittings, rattled and pinged against windows and walls. Her desperation drove the pieces higher, scattered like wild buckshot against the ceiling; pelted the empty chandelier hook and it screeched wretchedly, twisted on its moorings as the plaster and rafters around it crumbled.

“ _Regina_!”

She ignored the call, the hard demand in Emma’s voice; threw more force behind the whirlwind. Books and glass ricocheted off the Arendelle portal, tore at the walls, a thunderous cacophony of rage.

“Dammit – REGINA!—” Emma was trapped in the hall doorway, and she’d had enough. She breathed forcefully, muscles clenched and shook and Emma waved her arm, the gesture clumsy but determined.

Everything _stopped_.

Pieces crashed to the ground, and Regina fell back into a decorative sidetable, stunned. Emma hid her own surprise behind a thick cloud of anger, stormed across the ruined hall for the front door.

Regina leaned heavily against oak veneer, realised what Emma planned and choked out, “Wait—”

“Fuck you, Regina.” Emma wrenched the doorhandle and barged outside.

A red-hot shock of pain netted across Emma’s skin. She swore, swatted at the burning strings; threw herself unceremoniously back onto the hall’s patterned-wood floor. As the burn lingered, she whipped around, malachite eyes flashed furiously. “The _fuck_ Regina? Why did you do that?”

“ _I_ didn’t.” Regina exhaled a deep breath, nostrils flared. “Why would I want to keep us here any longer than you already have?”

“Then what the hell was that?”

Contempt curled Regina’s lip. “Rumpelstiltskin.”

Emma stared at her, stared back at the open door. She picked up a splintered piece of wood and tossed it through -- It flared against neon crimson, sparked and sputtered down onto the threshold. Emma watched it smoulder as Regina pushed herself upright. “Did you try a fireball?”

Regina snorted. “Miss Swan, have you forgotten our conversation about brute force?”

“It doesn’t have to be elegant Regina, it just has to work.”

Regina shook her head, straightened her wrinkled jacket and walked away. “I hardly think Gold would cast a trap like this only to have it undone by a simple fireball.”

“Yeah, then why did Gold trap us here?” Emma folded her arms across her chest, glared suspiciously as Regina crossed the hall. “Is it the portal? Why does he wanna force us through to Arendelle?”

“I highly doubt that is what he wants,” Regina dismissed, hands tucked on her hips. She tilted her face to the ceiling. “Though he would no doubt benefit from our absence if we did.”

 _Trapped with the Savior again_ , the Evil Queen sneered. 

“Well then? Is this about the Dagger?” Emma watched as Regina’s shoulders stiffened. “That’s why you’re here, right? You wanna control Rumpelstitskin or something? Is it--” A nasty thought jolted Emma. “Are you trying to become the Dark One?”

Black-brown hair whipped as Regina turned. “ _What_?”

“That’s how it works, right?” Emma leant back on one booted heel. “You control the dagger, you get his power. You told Henry you needed to stop someone and I know you meant Gold, I know he came after Henry during the curse so is that it? _That’s_ your solution?” Emma’s jaw tightened, and she spat, “Evil Queen wasn’t enough for you, so you thought you’d go full-on raging Dark-One _bitch_?”

_I am already dark enough..._

As if to make her point, magic crackled on Regina’s fingertips, singed the dust from her pants. The Evil Queen growled -- _Show her just what a raging bitch looks like…_

“I don’t wanna hurt you Regina,” Emma went on, “but I won’t let that happen. I won’t let you do it to Henry and I won’t let you do it to Storybrooke.”

“How very _noble_ ,” Regina hissed. “Fortunately for you, dear, I have no plans to become the Dark One.”

 _Strike her!_ The Evil Queen snarled. _Show her how you deal with insolence!_

Regina took a deep breath and swallowed the Queen’s roar. “While the dagger _is_ the reason I’m here, it’s only to slow Rumpel down. He’s the one with the plan - a plan to leave Storybrooke with his powers intact and I don’t think that bodes well for any of us.”

Emma stared at her, disbelief in storm-spun green, a furious hardness to her jaw. “… Are you kidding me?”

_Strike her!_

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “I hardly think—”

“Why the hell wouldn’t you just tell me that?” Emma yelled. “We could’ve stopped him together! That’s how this works, Regina -- Storybrooke gets a bad guy, and as long as it isn’t you we team up and magic its ass back to wherever the hell it came from -- _That’s how this works_.”

Regina’s head pounded, she gritted her teeth. “Not this time.”

“ _Why_?” Emma lurched forward. “Because of the curse? Because of the vault? Because I made you mad?”

“Because I’m trying to _protect_ you!” It tore through Regina’s throat, haggard and guttural; spewed from her wounds like clotted blood.

“Bullshit Regina, that’s bullshit!” Emma’s voice was strained, high-pitched. “If you were trying to protect me you did a shitty job, because now we’re stuck in this mansion while Rumpelstiltskin is out there, with my parents and _our son_ , and the rest of Storybrooke, totally at his mercy.”

Regina bent over, riven in two, hands gripped her thighs - she could no longer stand under the weight of this darkness, no longer bear the crushing force of the Queen. It fractured her, the rage; splintered her parts until she and the Evil Queen leeched together, swelled in her blood, saturated her skin -- first a trickle, then a stream, then a deluge.

“Regina?” Purple smoke curled from Regina’s body, not like Emma had seen before, not like when she poofed or conjured something small, this was bigger, much bigger, tumultuous. “Uh, Regina…?”

The floor beneath her rumbled, the walls shook – Emma put out a hand to steady herself but found only air. She crouched low and watched as Regina rose. Lightning crackled from the brunette’s skin, violet and magenta, it swirled through her eyes, danced across her teeth, fizzed and balled in the gaping cavern of her mouth.

_This is… bad._

Regina threw back her head and laughed, resonant and booming - it ended in a hiss. When she levelled her gaze at Emma again, Regina’s face had paled to a lead-white sheen and Emma’s molars wedged together, held back the litany of _Fuck_ s that welled in her throat.

Regina sneered, and magic popped across the whiteness of her teeth. “You wanted to know what I was protecting you from, _dear_?” She chuckled then, and it was low and chilling. “Well… _I suggest you run._ ”

*

Emma was halfway up the staircase before she thought better of it. _Where the fuck am I going?_ There was no way out of the mansion, that had already been established. At best she might make it to the portal, but that meant doubling back past Regina-as-hellbeast and frankly - _fuck that_.

If Emma wanted to survive whatever the hell this was, she had to be smart. That asked a lot, because as Emma skidded across the landing and heard Regina’s first heavy steps hit the rise, the parts of her brain evolved enough for complex planning slipped into a primal fog. Emma needed a weapon, but she’d locked away her gun during the curse and absolutely knew the Dark One’s dagger wasn’t here. No way would Gold lock them in with the source of his power.

Of course, Emma had never needed something really sharp to make her mark.

Down the long hall, Emma ducked into an open doorway and pressed herself against the shadows. Regina’s heels echoed unnaturally, out of time with a regular tread - it was as if she floated, or at least covered too much ground between footfalls. Emma readied herself, controlled her breathing, filled her chest with silence…

Regina crackled and sparked as she glided past. Emma stepped out, and hit her squarely across the shoulders with a well-constructed chair.

For Regina, a new kind of darkness descended.

*****


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"“If you don’t let me go, I will burn down this room and you along with it.” The rug beneath Regina smouldered, and the smell of burnt wool filled the air."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rolling these sections out as quickly as I can. Thank you all so much for your overwhelming support and kudos - it helps so much.
> 
> And things are finally starting to get warmer in here :)

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_14\. [ You knew what I needed ]_**

No matter how attractive the body was, dead weight was a pain in the ass to manoeuvre. Emma eventually dragged Regina’s slumped form into the nearest room and propped her up against a heavy-framed wardrobe. She secured her with as many woven tie-backs as she could steal from the mansion’s heavy curtains, then poured an indecent amount of magic on top for good measure.

Emma wasn’t sure if any of it would hold - her magic seemed elusive, temperamental at best, but she’d used it enough recently to know that when she needed it, it mostly came through. As long as it wasn’t about wanting or demanding, only _needing_ , and Emma really needed this.

Regina’s breath evened out and after a while she stopped sparking as much. Emma watched her closely, hoped she’d stay that way as much as she hoped she’d wake up. Emma wanted to see Regina’s eyes, but didn’t know what to do if violet still swirled there. Hit her again, probably. Sometimes violence was the only option.

She sank back against a large blanket box, knees raised and arms dangled over them. There were no magazines, no books or stereo in sight, nothing to keep her entertained but the dirt under her fingernails and the unresponsive form of Regina Mills.

Emma hated waiting. She’d rather _do_ , rather fight – even paperwork was better than this. She rifled through her pockets and found candy, popped a piece in her mouth and rolled the cellophane wrapper into a tight ball. She threw it and it bounced off Regina’s hair but the woman never stirred.

_Maybe if I poked her with something…_

Emma looked around but ultimately thought better of it. Instead she drummed her fingers on the floor, wondered who this mansion even belonged to. As far as Emma could tell this was a guest bedroom, still opulent but more Spartan than the other rooms she’d raided for rope. Overall the mansion was nice, nothing special though -- _How did Gold even find a portal here?_

_Why’d he bother with such an elaborate ruse? Sure he needed time, but we both had to get trapped for that and how did he even known we’d both be here? Why this place? And seriously, what the hell is making Regina do a convincing impression of a dark-magicked Tesla coil anyway?_

_Why does she still wanna kill me?_

_How did it come to this?_

It was too much. There was too much going on here, and Emma shouldn’t have to work this hard just to be with someone -- She never had before, she never would’ve bothered. There was a steady stream of people in this world who were somewhat intelligent and attractive, even in Storybrooke, and from the time she’d matured, Emma had never been alone unless that was what she’d wanted.

Admittedly, people who held her interest for more than a night were rare. But with all of them - even Neal, someone she’d cared for beyond reason or sense - if the going got rough, Emma had been prepared to leave. Love, _real_ love, the kind that was lasting and ingrained, wasn’t meant to be easy - so Emma kept her life simple because she never let it get to that point.

Now, every part of her screamed -- _This is not love!_ \-- and of course she believed that, because up until a few months ago she’d hated Regina, or something so close to it that it felt pretty much the same, so... She still did, _they_ still did, seethed around each other, even in those moments when hands and thighs and tongues twisted into a shameless, begging heap…

But Emma missed Regina today. Not because Regina had obviously avoided seeing her, it ran deeper than that. It was the kind of missing that didn’t end as Emma sat here and watched her in this room, the kind that had nothing to do with proximity, the kind where Emma had been surrounded by people all day yet still felt kind of… alone.

_What is this?_

Emma chewed more candy and absently threw another wrapper at Regina. This one hit the brunette’s cheek -- when her over-long eyelashes fluttered, Emma nearly choked on the sugary ball. She tensed, palms prepped with a spindly buzz of magic.

Regina seemed groggy at first, quickly struggled against the ties that bound her to the wooden frame of the wardrobe, flexed her arms and shoulders and flared to life with dark power. She growled, “What have you done to me?”

“Not much - I don’t think that’ll work though, I mean I’m not great at this magic thing yet, but I think it’ll hold…” Emma smiled weakly. “It’d be great if you stopped trying…”

Regina didn’t - fought furiously against her restraints, kicked her feet, threw her hips around on the carpeted floor and Emma pushed forward onto her knees, elbow cocked and watched the woman, uneasy. “Regina--”

“I’ll kill you!” Regina snarled, electric purple flowed through her teeth, magenta muddied black-coffee eyes.

“Ok.” Emma slumped back against the wooden box dejected, relieved her handiwork was holding. “I won’t untie you then.”

“If you don’t let me go, I will burn down this room and you along with it.” The rug beneath Regina smouldered and the smell of burnt wool filled the air.

Emma narrowed her eyes. “What happens when the house burns down? Think Gold’s spell’ll magically disperse and you’ll be free to go?” Emma unwrapped the last piece of candy from her pocket, tossed it belligerently into her mouth. “Because _I_ think, you’ll be trapped here on a pile of ash while your tits freeze off -- It’s pretty cold outside. And the wind from the sea…” Emma whistled lowly.

Regina howled frustration, hissed and roared and gnashed her teeth, thrashed her body around and while the heavy wardrobe creaked, it didn’t give an inch. The ties and the magic Emma had used actually squeezed tighter against Regina’s skin, and Emma couldn’t help but be impressed with her own skills. _Apparently I would’ve made a killer Girl Scout._

Regina’s first fireball startled Emma but flew wide, the line ruined by her cinched wrists and Emma jumped up as it dispersed harmlessly against a wall. But what Regina lacked in aim she made up for with unadulterated fury. The next came too close to Emma’s hair, and the third she avoided only by instinct, batted with a magic-filled hand.

“HEY!” Emma shouted and snatched up a bedside table, a no-doubt expensive lamp smashed to the floor. “Do not make me hit you again!”

Regina laughed and loosed more flames. Emma deflected them with the tabletop just narrowly -- shot back with a powerful boom of magic. It slammed into Regina’s tied body, and she shuddered and screeched in pain.

“Would you just stop?” Emma yelled, pleaded.

“Never,” Regina hissed, and bolts of violet sparked across her skin, fizzed and flared. Electrified fire flowed into her palms as hellstorm and Emma realised suddenly just how out of her depth she really was.

_I’m going to die here._

Just as Regina prepared to turn her into a powerline pigeon carcass, Emma lurched forward and swung the table down with her whole body, added a shockwave of magic. The wood splintered over Regina’s shoulders and Regina grunted, slumped sideways. Her power sputtered away.

Emma fell forward against the wardrobe. She breathed heavily, her heart pounded and her throat burnt and it was more than just adrenaline but she didn’t know what to do about it, wasn’t sure what to do about any of this. How far would she have to go to stop Regina?

Emma didn’t think she could kill her.

The question was, did Regina feel the same?

*

Regina hadn’t been out long, and the only plan Emma had come up with was _run like hell_ ; when her jacket pocket buzzed and the tinny refrains of ‘ _Binary Sunset’_ sang through. It was Henry’s chosen ringtone and Emma thought of Regina’s flawless style and impeccable taste, and wondered how the woman had raised such a nerd. _Genetics - Neal’s, of course._ Emma smirked wryly to herself, answered: “Hey kid.”

“Mom?” Henry crackled through the speaker. “Ma, are you there?”

“Henry?” It was a bad line - but then who expected good cell coverage in the middle of a curse-relocated fairytale mansion? “Henry? I’m here--”

“Ma, you’re breaking up. Where are you? Did you find Mom?”

Emma stared down at the unconscious body that occasionally popped and flared with magic and shrugged. “Yeah sure. Henry--”

“Mom? Emma?”

Frustrated, Emma stepped out into the hall and hoped for a better signal; shouted: “Yeah I found her.”

“Is she ok?”

 _That’s a complicated question._ “Sure kid. Don’t worry.”

There was a silence that could’ve been him or could’ve been the phone, but either way Emma hoped he’d accepted the lie.

“We’re at Granny’s,” Henry finally came through. “Hook’s here too.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Don’t worry, we don’t trust him. But he says Gold found a portal in… ..forest, that can... Elsa and the others to Arendelle.”

“What? No! Henry—”

“Mom? Grandma--”

“Henry, don’t come to the portal!”

“—promised Elsa we’d get her home. Hook’s taking us … .. … ..got weapons and she tied… ..he’s… …. .. coming, can you meet--”

“Henry, don’t come out here!” Emma shouted down the line. “The spell, the portal—” The computerised beeps of a lost signal nipped at her eardrums. Henry was gone.

 _Shit. Shit shit fuck balls!_ Emma tried calling back but the line beeped callously. She punched the wall with the phone clenched in her fist, her knuckles bruised and she added that to a growing list of Regina-related injuries. _I take it back – if this bitch hurts Henry, I will kill her in a heartbeat._

Emma stepped back into the room. Regina had woken but seemed subdued, pensive - a dulcet tiger in an open cage. Emma gave her a wide berth.

“Was that Henry?”

“Yeah. Look Regina, he’s on his way here, Hook’s bringing everyone--”

“Untie me!” Panicked, Regina struggled against her bonds. “If they come here, they’ll be trapped!”

“Yeah thanks, I got that,” Emma snapped. “Regina, I don’t know why you’re like this right now or why you wanna kill me, but if we could just call a truce—”

“We have to break the spell!” Regina swelled and crackled, enraged; a purple fog rolled across the ground around her. “Let me go!”

The magic and the still-pale skin, the violet that swirled through shadowed brown eyes -- Emma shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“ _Savior—_ ”

“Now I’m the Savior again? What the hell, Regina?”

“Let. Me. GO,” she snarled.

“Hey - your _Majesty_ ,” Emma spat. “How about you stop giving orders and just shut the hell up.”

Regina roared, frustration and malice, poured it all into a purple strike of power but Emma deflected it -- and then Emma was just _done_. She sat back on the bed, arms folded and waited for Regina to tire herself out. She reared when a bolt of magic arced towards her but it barely came close and eventually Regina thrashed less, panted with exertion. The power remained, but it merely fizzed beneath her skin.

“Regina…” Emma spoke quietly, firmly. “Our son is on his way here. I don’t trust you right now, and if you think I’ll let you do anything to hurt him…”

Regina sat stock-still, deathly silent. She raised her head slowly, and the eyes that bore into Emma were different this time, unfettered by power but painfully dark. “You think… You think I could ever hurt Henry?”

“I don’t know, Regina. I don’t know why you’re like this, I don’t know what’s happened to you but I do know I’d kill you first.”

Whatever war raged through Regina’s body suddenly broke -- the fight fled, the light and the magic and Emma could tell the thing was still there, deep and thick under the surface but not choppy anymore, the eye of a cyclone.

Regina whispered raggedly, “I would never hurt Henry.”

It didn’t take her superpower to know that Regina wasn’t lying. For everything that had happened recently, however badly Regina had dealt with it she had only ever done things she thought would protect their son. Trying to kill Emma had precedent – it had never extended to Henry.

“Alright,” Emma shrugged. “Then maybe we can figure something out.”

“Untie me.”

“No.”  Emma grabbed a pillow and threw it to the end of the bed, stretched out over it. She looked down on Regina, tied to the wardrobe and it was almost the strangest slumber party she’d ever been to. “What about a containment spell? Or some kind of barrier – maybe just over the door so they can’t come in?”

Regina sighed, shifted against the ropes, uncomfortable but momentarily resigned. “I don’t see how that would help. Gold’s spell is outside the threshold. They would still be able to cross it - at best we’d trap them in between.”

“Yeah…” Emma dropped her chin onto the pillow. “I’m gonna have to sit down there and yell through the door, aren’t I?”

“I could help you if you’d just let me go.”

Emma shook her head. “Not until I can trust you, and you are two tonnes of uncontrolled crazy right now.”

“Well if you hadn’t pushed me to this in the first place…” Regina snapped.

“ _Me?_ I’m not the one who attacked here, Regina. All I wanted was to talk.”

“I guess now you have your chance,” Regina sniped, and adjusted her body awkwardly. “Clearly, I’m not going anywhere…”

Emma quirked her brow -- _This is true._ She had time before Henry arrived, time enough that maybe Emma could sort out some of what had happened, while Regina seemed marginally agreeable and lucid -- and if they got to a point where Regina could be freed, then… _At least I won’t have to explain bondage to the kid._

In the silence, Regina murmured, “It’s nice to see you’re finally using your magic.” Then drily, she added, “Even if it is against me.”

Emma shrugged. “I’ve used magic before.”

“Not like this.” There was an edge to Regina’s voice, envy maybe, but also pride. Regina flexed her arms, wisped her magic against the ropes to prove her point. “This is well-crafted, Miss Swan. And powerful - I’d almost say it’s to your true potential.”

“Yeah well, you can shove it, because I’m not doing this again.”

A disappointed chuckle, Regina shook her head. “It has always been so wasted on you.”

“I never asked for any of this,” Emma said bitterly.

Archly, Regina snapped, “Neither did I.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suddenly Regina looked tired. She lowered her head. “What do you want from me, Swan?”

“Answers Regina, all I’ve wanted was answers and to find out if you were ok. When the curse ended, when you ran, you looked…” Emma watched as Regina’s face crumpled slowly, collapsed into violet and darkness and she nodded, “…Yeah, you looked exactly like that.”

Regina said nothing. Her thick hair curtained her white-washed face and Emma wanted to run her fingers through it even if it got her killed. “When you left this morning, I thought… I thought maybe you were gonna hurt yourself or something, so I just wanted to find you and check how you were and when you wouldn’t see me, I thought maybe I’d pissed you off or upset you or something and I just… I don’t know.”

Regina had folded in on herself, an origami box of despair, all tattered edges and poorly contained tears.

Emma scratched against an itch that wasn’t really there, said quietly, “I know you don’t forgive easily, Regina. Lately I’ve fucked you over a lot so I get that, I get that you might be mad and then what I said at your vault about Elsa and me, about Henry -- I get that it would hurt you, even though you know why I had to say it and you know it’s not true because it’s not. There was a lot of bullshit and curse flying around last night, and--”

“I assaulted you,” Regina flayed brutally, her mouth brittle. She raised her head, a hardness to her eyes. “In that vault, Emma - I tortured you, I rape—”

“— _STOP._ Regina…” Emma was on her feet and she paced the sharp line between them. “I’m not going to stand here and let you feel sorry for yourself, or feel sorry about what happened because, well… Because I’m not. I’m not sorry, and my only regret right now is that you feel like this was all on you, that you did something wrong and it’s not like that, it’s just not…” 

“That doesn’t make _sense_!” Regina shook her head, brow twisted against the vein that pulsed thick on her forehead. “What I did was _unforgiveable_ , don’t pretend you can--”

“Hey, you tied me to a wall Regina, you tried to fuck answers out of me so you don’t get to tell me how I can feel about that.”

It rang in the sudden absence. Regina breathed haggardly and Emma hadn’t meant to say it. Not that it wasn’t true, just that it wasn’t the whole story. There had been a moment when Emma made a choice, where she knew the risks and knew what Regina was and what Ingrid had made her into and Emma could have fought to the death, or distracted Regina in a million other ways but she didn’t. It wasn’t all on Emma. But she wasn’t a completely unwilling participant.

“You were the Evil Queen Regina, but I was still me, and there were times when I could’ve left, times when your magic… If you’re gonna give me a pass on that, then you’re gonna have to take one too, because neither of us was really in control in that vault.”

Regina would not believe her.

“Anyway,” Emma pleaded, “It doesn’t matter now - the curse is over—”

“Nothing has changed,” Regina spat. “ _Nothing_.”

_Everything has changed._

Regina drew herself up regally despite her restraints. “You keep talking about how I _was_ the Evil Queen, as though you think she’s not me…” Magic spilled through Regina’s veins, dark and electric; she brought it across her tongue and it flooded her eyes. “A curse may have started this, Swan, but it is not over.”

Emma watched silently. Things had started to fall into place. _Regina’s not letting this go._

Regina went on coldly, “You’ve read Henry’s storybook. Once upon a time, there was a Villain - and that villain was me. There’s no escaping it, there will be no Happy Ending - I was written this way, Emma, and I will never be greater than what the Author put down on those pages. The Evil Queen is who I am...” Regina smiled viciously. “And she always will be.”

Emma snorted then, so convulsively she choked. “Are you serious?” -- _‘I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way…’_ The image of Regina Mills as Jessica Rabbit, well - she certainly ticked the sex-siren box. But the idea that anyone, even some mystical, all-powerful Author could make Regina Mills do anything she didn’t want to do, was beyond laughable.

Regina’s eyes narrowed, a fury that rose only when she was hurt. She growled, “It’s hardly something I’d joke about.”

“Regina, you stopped being the Evil Queen a long time ago.”

“You have no idea,” Regina snarled. _I feel her, I hear her. She is me._ “Villains and monsters don’t change, Swan. In the vault, downstairs, now -- We don’t get redemption. The Evil Queen—”

“Fuck the Evil Queen!” Emma eyes burnt, tears she had denied all this time rushed suddenly to the surface and she bit back angrily on them. “Call it whatever you want Regina, but don’t pretend that this is magical or special in any way. Don’t pretend this isn’t just a part of you.”

“It’s more than just a part of me!”

“No you don’t get to say that!” Emma yelled raggedly, throat knotted and tight. “You already said in this mansion that there is no way you could be a monster. You said that the love you have in your life makes that impossible, so don’t pretend this is bigger than it really is! Some bitch pulled a curse on you, that’s _all_.”

Regina scowled, lashed back against the bite of her own words used against her -- “You have _no idea_ what I am.”

“I know _who_ you are!” Emma bellowed, and salt stung her over-bitten lip. “You’re Regina Mills – pain in my ass. And I know you’re angry and embarrassed and maybe kinda scared, and you’re out of control right now but you’re still you -- the Evil Queen is just a part of that!”

“She is _all_ that I am!” Regina roared, bereft. “This darkness—”

“ _Darkness_? You think there’s not darkness in me? Like I’m all happy thoughts and self-sacrifice or whatever? _Have you met me?_ I nearly killed you here a few nights ago!” Emma shook her pounding head. “There’s darkness in everyone Regina, we’re all fucked up in our own uniquely shitty ways - that doesn’t mean you get to act like the world can’t handle you. I mean, _grow up_.”

Regina seethed and railed, a rampant volcano of words and rage and power ruptured through her skin. She poured it all into the ropes that bound her, the magic and the wardrobe, thrashed and screamed all gnarled lips and vengeance.

Emma was furious; angry, then just… nothing. She couldn’t feed the fire anymore. “You know what Regina – we’re out of time.” Emma stood, pulled up the zipper on her jacket because night had snuck in and brought with it a chill. “Henry’s on his way. I’m gonna go downstairs and wait for him. Would you keep quiet? Or are you gonna keep struggling until that wardrobe falls on you?”

Regina smirked, red lips on sharp white teeth. “That death would be difficult to explain.”

“Maybe.” Emma crouched down, elbows on her knees, close enough that Regina’s errant power rifled her hair with static. “But I’d rather explain that than the fact you think you’re still evil because of some curse everyone else has gotten over.”

Regina snarled, “This is different--”

“Bullshit. It’s only different because you refuse to let it go and Henry won’t understand that. He’s always seen the good in you, Regina - even when there was none there to find.”

Emma stood, turned her back on the woman who had already turned her back on everything else.

At the doorway, Emma paused, more out than in. She had one last thing to say, because she’d promised her kid. “Henry gave me a message for you by the way. He wanted me to remind you that he’d found that page for Operation Mongoose, and you shouldn’t make any big decisions ‘til you’ve seen it. And… He loves you.”

Behind her, Regina fell silent; the kind where words had stuck in her throat, the kind that was ragged and bleeding and wanted so much to say anything that would make this better. She had never meant for any of this to happen. When she kissed Emma Swan, the world ended. An Evil Queen was never meant to have a Savior. Some curses weren’t meant to be broken.

Regina steadied her shattered throat, forced out, “I doubt he’s found anything that would change my mind.”

“About you leaving?” Emma shrugged without turning. “That’s your decision.” She gripped the door casing and propelled herself through. “It’s probably the best one you’ve ever made.”

*****

 

**_15\. [ Reign me in ]_ **

Operation Mongoose had been a childish dream. Regina should never have shared it with Henry, never allowed either of them to hope -- The idea they could find the Author, that she could be more than she was…

The Evil Queen was never meant to have a Savior.

That didn’t mean Regina didn’t want one.

The words bubbled into her mouth as soon as Emma left – _No, wait!_ ; and the Evil Queen hissed -- _Be quiet! Let her go!_ , and _Foolish girl…_ And finally Regina heard it, the sibilance beneath the sentences: Cora’s voice, Rumpelstiltskin’s, the frantic tones of her cowed father. Regina wondered why she hadn’t heard it before, why she hadn’t really listened -- These were not people she was still shackled to. They didn’t control her anymore.

_You are not me._

Emma was right -- this thing was a part of Regina, but it was not new, not curse-driven or betrayal-provoked, it was so old in fact that she had thrown it off years ago, thrown _them_ off years ago; escaped the words that had shaped her into a weapon, into a cudgel wielded by cowards. Regina had fought so hard to get to this point, to a moment where her son loved her and people trusted her and maybe, just maybe…

“Emma, wait!”

Regina fought against the ropes with everything she had, not a darkness this time but a needful desperation, power born from the thinnest thread of hope. It surged through her and something eased around her chest, loosened enough that she shouted, “EMMA!”

Regina struggled harder, one of her arms almost freed and still she called, throat raw -- until Emma pushed back through the open door, her hands tight on the frame.

“For fuck’s sake, Regina! Would you—” Green eyes widened as she realised the woman was almost out of her bonds. Emma disappeared from view.

“Emma? Wait, it’s fine--”

“I am not being flambéed today, Regina!” Emma called from the hall. “If you could just put those ropes back on, that’d be great.”

Regina sighed, irritated, but knew Emma’s suspicion was hardly unjustified. _How many times is too many to try to kill someone?_ “Emma, please…”

Silence. Regina waited; body tensed, brow creased.

Emma’s voice sounded hard around the door. “What’s changed?”

 _Everything..._ Regina didn’t know how to put that into words, her sudden realisation that maybe this wasn’t all there was, perhaps she could still be more. “The Evil Queen… is a part of me,” Regina strangled out. “But she is not who I am.”

A second more, and then Emma peeked around the wood. “Oh yeah? How do you feel about lead-white and bling?”

Regina’s eyes narrowed, annoyed – then rolled; Regina waved a hand across her face, her make-up understated on a healthy skin tone, subtly hers. She called out snidely, “I feel like you are hardly one to comment on _questionable_ wardrobe choices, Miss Swan.”

In the hall, Emma sank against the plaster, a crooked smile on her face. The change in Regina’s voice, her eyes, in her mannerisms -- Emma believed her. There was a relieved weightlessness to the air and Emma breathed it deeply, threw her last reservations to the wind and stepped cockily into the room. “Hey, everyone liked my red leather jacket but you, Madame Mills.”

Regina quirked an eyebrow. “Believe what you want, dear. Though I was talking about your current choices...” As Emma crouched over her, she eyed the torn taffeta cinched around Emma’s throat with disdain. “What  _are_ you wearing?”

Emma’s hands shifted from the untied knots to her makeshift scarf, and while Regina rubbed her bitten wrists and finally stretched her legs, Emma shrugged. “About that…”  _If she’s gonna freak out again, now’s the time..._  Emma pulled the torn cape away.

Immediately Regina was up on her knees, almost too close after such a prolonged absence. Her brow furrowed, fingers light and cool on Emma’s bruised skin. “Why are these still here?”

Emma swallowed against the heat of Regina’s breath, maddening on her jaw. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“I mean, why haven’t you already healed them?” Regina cupped Emma’s chin firmly, pulled back just enough to search sea-green eyes, storm-washed and reticent.

Emma shrugged. “I tried. It didn’t work.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Regina probed deeper. “The power is in you, Emma, you’ve more than proved that.”

Emma pulled away, needed a breath that was her own. She mumbled, “Guess I just didn’t need it enough.”

Regina reached out, ran her knuckles delicately across Emma’s teeth-marred throat and her power flared. She dropped her hands back into her lap and stared at them. Quietly, Regina murmured, “I will never understand you, Emma Swan.”

Emma looked up slowly; a smile crept onto her lips, tentative and sweet and just a little goofy. “Well, at least that’ll keep things interesting...”

Regina’s mouth curved. Her voice spilled out, dry yet almost sultry. “I don’t think  _interesting_  is ever going to be a problem.”

Regina inched closer and Emma’s head swirled.

“You tried to kill me,” Emma muttered.

“Not for the first time.” Regina arched a brow. “I promise next time, it can be your turn.”

Emma smirked in spite of herself, shrugged one careless shoulder. “Deal.”

When Regina’s fingers twisted in Emma’s hair, she let herself be pulled in. “I’m sorry,” Regina whispered against her mouth. When Regina kissed her, so little else mattered.

In her lips were promises and patience, pleasure and fury – Emma took less than she needed or wanted but all that she could in the time that they had. There was so much more still to be said, more to be done but Henry was on his way, and Mary Margaret and Elsa; and they had spells to break and Rumpelstiltskin to stop and this -- at least this part Emma could handle.

Regina breathed onto her lips, forehead pressed against Emma’s and she closed her dark eyes. “I’m sorry,” Regina whispered again.

“Yeah, you should be.”

Regina’s brow furrowed, but when she tried to move away, Emma grabbed the back of her neck and tugged her in again.

“That didn’t go for long enough,” she rasped, and kissed Regina again.

*

It was a slow trip back to the Main Hall.

Each time Regina got ahead of Emma, her hips swayed, or her hand brushed a wall, or her dark hair curled around her neck and then Emma had her pressed against doors, bailed up on the landing, trapped in an awkward turn on the staircase and she kissed Regina urgently, fingers knotted in her hair, jacket wrenched and shirt pulled from her waistband until finally, exasperated, Regina snapped:

“Honestly, Emma - anyone would think that curse turned you into a teenager.”

Cocky, Emma grinned. “What can I say? A little curse, a little fighting, a little brush with death -- I guess I’m a slave for the Evil Queen.”

Regina’s face warped and fell, and Emma swore to herself.  _Too soon._  “Regina, I’m—”

She held up her hand. “No, it’s fine. I imagine there’s more of that to come.” She smoothed her rumpled jacket. “It’s not that I don’t deserve it, just--” A regal tilt to her chin, mouth curved; suddenly Regina seemed taller, eyes dark but far from ominous. “You should remember, Miss Swan - I give as good as I get.”

Before Emma could respond, Regina shoved her against the Arendelle portal, body pressed against the length of her torso. She slid her hand under Emma’s shirt, nails traced the soft skin of her lower back, lips fervent on her jaw, her ear and when Emma whimpered Regina pushed under her belt and into Emma’s tight jeans. She cupped the muscle that flexed as the blonde thrust against her; raised her knee into the hot press of denim. Regina’s tongue flickered against whorled cartilage. “I will make this all up to you,” she whispered fiercely.

Emma wanted to say there was nothing to be made up, but also _Don’t stop_ and _Please_ – she had no words. And then there were voices – Regina heard them too. She rushed away from Emma, rounded the portal but still held Emma’s hand tightly behind her.

Henry jogged up the path towards the mansion, followed by Elsa, Anna and Kristoff; Mary Margaret brought up the rear with Hook. His wrists were tied, and he seemed resigned to his fate as Mary Margaret towed him sternly along.

Regina shouted, “Henry, stop!”

Their son didn’t listen, kept right on through the gates and took the stairs two at a time as Emma and Regina took turns shouting with rising urgency: _Stop! Henry, no! Wait! Go back!_

Regina threw herself into the doorway, blocked the entrance with her body though it burnt her; poured magic into the crimson web, hers and Emma’s, the blonde’s hands crushed desperately to Regina’s arms - but none of it worked.

Henry launched into them, a forceful slam of over-exuberance and they all crashed to the floor; an akimbo pile of Swan-Mills body parts, barely avoided by the Arendelle trio who meandered in next.

Elsa stumbled, questioned, “Emma?”

“Stop her! Mary Margaret--!” Emma wheezed from the base of the crush -- It was too late. Her mother sauntered into the confusion, Hook tugged roughly behind on his tether.

“Emma!” she exclaimed, confronted by the rabble and uncertain how her daughter came to be sprawled beneath both Regina and her son.

Emma coughed, unceremoniously pushed the additional arms and legs from her body. Regina _oomphed_ at her sharp elbow; Emma laid back freed on the parquet floor and struggled to regain her breath. The back of her head pounded.

_I fucking hate this hall._

“Emma, what’s going on?” Mary Margaret demanded, concerned and confused. Her eyes flicked constantly to Regina, who had recovered enough to sit and had wrapped Henry in a tight, seemingly infinite embrace.

Emma stood, brushed herself off and eyed them longingly - she wanted to be in on that, but she would get her turn eventually. Instead, Emma smiled weakly at her mother and then Elsa. “I guess you didn’t hear us. We tried to warn you not to come in but Gold’s spell must’ve…” Emma trailed off, shrugged lopsidedly, “Well, you’re trapped here now. Any chance you brought coffee?”

*****


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“We should get back,” Emma murmured against her collar bone. “The sooner we get this mess sorted out, the sooner I can get you somewhere… naked.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer and a little more jam-packed than usual, because I'm away at slam comps for the next week and I wanted it to tide you over, at least for a little while. I'll be back, bigger and better, as soon as I can.
> 
> As always, thanks for your kudos and comments. They keep me alive.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by 

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_16\. [ Hold me fast ]_ **

_‘What do you mean, trapped?’_

Mary Margaret kept asking it, over and over as Regina tried to explain the dagger and Gold’s spell, his plans during the curse, his continued scheming and probable end-game – she was stuck on the being stuck. “I can’t be here. I just—I can’t afford to be here.”

“None of us can,” Regina snarled. “It’s not like we have a choice.”

But Emma had learnt more about Regina’s day as they spoke, and now flashes of anger arced along her skin. _If she had just come to me sooner_ …

Maybe Gold would be in jail by now, her parents at home with baby Neal and Henry and she and Regina could be twisted in each other, in sheets and sweat, their mouths done with talking but for ragged _more_ s and _yes_ es and screamed names…

So Emma was surly. And Mary Margaret was devastated, enraged by the idea she might be kept from her husband and son; and Regina… was still Regina. It was only a matter of time before someone punched Hook.

“You sonuva bitch!” Mary Margaret’s vicious turn-and-jab sent the pirate to the floor.

Hook tongued his bloodied lip, unable to do much more with his wrists still tied. “Listen, love—”

“Don’t you _‘love’_ me.” Mary Margaret stood over him, ready to strike again. “Why did Gold trap us here? Why are you helping him? What are you getting out of it?”

“Well now, it seems Regina left out a very important part of this story. Didn’t you, _your majesty_?”

The title no longer bothered her. Regina stepped back, arms folded on her chest, just a hint of a smirk -- The times Mary Margaret’s virtuous exterior slipped were Regina’s favourites. “You mean, about your heart?”

Emma stared down on him. “What about your heart?”

“Yes, how _did_ Gold get close enough to take that from you, pirate?” Regina asked.

Mary Margaret blanched, alarmed. “Gold has your heart?”

“He—”

“Since when?” Emma’s eyes narrowed, arms tightly crossed.

“If I could just speak…” Hook set his jaw against the onslaught.

Regina sneered. “ _Now_ you want to talk?”

“It happened when last we were here!” Hook said determinedly, voice raised. “Gold took it here, outside this godsforsaken place.”

“When?” Emma asked. “ _After_ I saw you?”

“Hook was already here when I arrived that night,” Regina murmured. “I saw him talking outside with Gold.”

“Not talking so much as I was tied to a fence while he tortured me,” Hook snapped, steel in his tongue.

Emma’s eyes never left him, her voice was acid and ice. “How did you even know to come here, Killian?”

“That night? How did any of us?” the pirate hedged. “I came because when I was looking for you, I saw a map at Gold’s shop. I wanted to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

“You were at Gold’s shop? So you went to Gold first. Why? Were you working with him?”

“No, I—”

“You’re lying.” Emma lurched forward, grabbed Hook up by the front of his jacket. She shouted into his pained face, “How long were you working with Gold? When did it start? And don’t tell me it had anything to do with him taking your heart, because I know that’s a lie!”

“It _was_ about my heart! It just… wasn’t the Crocodile who had taken it.”

Emma scoffed, repulsed, and dropped him.

Hook fell back on his knees. “I tried to tell you,” he insisted, “tried to let you know what I had done, that Gold used you against me, how much I regretted-- I called you, I left a voice message on your talking phone, but he took it...”

“How convenient,” Regina drawled.

“Not really.” He glared up at her.

Regina returned the look with rancour. “Answer her question, toad -- How long have you two been working together?”

“Was it days, Killian? Weeks? What are we talking here?” Emma asked, bleakly. “Was it while we were still dating?”

Mary Margaret stared at her daughter.

“I don’t know, love - were we?” Hook responded bitterly. “Only you can answer that.”

“Wait, you two broke up?”

Regina heard hornets, they had poked Mary Margaret’s nest. The last thing they needed was Snow White buzzing around Emma’s love life.

“Swan – Emma… You have to believe me; I was just trying to protect you—”

This time Emma hit Hook, hard in the jaw. He sprawled backwards. Her eyes stung betrayal, and Emma stormed away.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret took off after her.

Regina crouched down. She let violet flood her eyes, and though it was all lights and show – Emma had taken her real darkness - it was convincing enough for the pirate. Hook paled.

“If you were already working with Gold,” Regina asked darkly, “why would he need to take your heart?”

“Are you hoping to take the Crocodile’s spell for yourself, Regina?”

Her purpled eyes narrowed. “He needed it for that? To cleave himself from the dagger? How does your heart fit in?”

“Oh, we’re just old friends…” Hook sneered, challenged her with his reddened jaw. “You know how it is, pet – sometimes a person you’ve known for years just takes the heart right from you.”

Regina stiffened, stood. She had all the information she wanted -- whatever else the pirate thought he knew, Emma was no longer his business, and Regina never had been.

“She’s too good for you!” Hook snarled suddenly, and launched himself after her despite his bonds. “Maybe I kept things from her, Emma Swan might be too good for me but for you - you heartless bitch—”

Regina whipped around and punched Hook full force in the bridge of his nose. It crunched and he flew back, his head thunked against the parquet floor. His nostrils gushed, but Hook became very still. Regina sneered down at his unconscious body, rolled him onto his side with one stiletto heel. “Can’t have you choking on your own blood,” she muttered.

She turned away from him – and by the portal door, Henry, his expression unreadable. _How much did he hear?_ Regina’s lips parted, she stuttered but didn’t know what to say. They hadn’t talked yet, not really and if Henry still thought she was evil, Regina didn’t know what she would do. “Henry…”

“It’s ok,” he stopped her. “It’s not you I’m mad at.”

Regina’s smile couldn’t have been broader, teeth and her eyes glittered with relief and she hurried across the room, gathered him into her arms once again.

“You’re not leaving?” he asked into her shoulder.

“Never.”

“Will Mom be okay?”

Regina took a second to think about the question. There were so many layers to it, far more than her son knew. But it felt honest, right when she answered, “Yes. Emma will be fine. I think we all will be.”

Henry squeezed her tighter.

*

“Emma?” Mary Margaret searched for her daughter down a long hall, and soon found her in a bedroom that passed for a war zone. Rugs, walls and fabrics were singed, décor destroyed, a length of rope wound around a heavy wardrobe. “What the heck happened here?”

“It’s hard to find good help these days,” Emma snarked. Her fingers fiddled with a tiny cellophane ball, eyes fixed to the crinkled movement.

Mary Margaret sank onto the bed beside her. “So when did you and Hook break up?”

“Does it matter?”

“Obviously it does,” her mother said, and stilled her daughter’s hands. “Emma, I’m sorry that had to happen…”

“God, I’m not,” Emma brushed her off. “Hook was a 200-year-old man-child with an overdeveloped ego.”

“Then why—”

“Am I gonna keep doing this?” Emma blurted, then angled towards her mother, knee on the bed. “Am I gonna keep dating these people who just - betray me in the end? Neal, Walsh, Hook…” she trailed off. Emma didn’t know where or even if Regina belonged in this list.

“Oh, honey…”

Mary Margaret tried to hug her but Emma pulled away. “And it’s not like I have a lot of trust to begin with, you know? It’s not like I’m exactly easy to get close to – why bother going to all that effort if they’re just gonna throw me to the wolves?”

“Your effort, or theirs?”

Emma threw up her hands. “Both!”

“Emma…” Her mother’s voice an admonishment, a plea. “Honey, I got so lucky with David…” Mary Margaret’s face lit up, the ridiculously endearing glow that only came when she talked about her husband. “Your father - my Prince Charming -- Someone like him only comes along once in a lifetime, I know. And I was lucky enough to find him straight off the bat, and I am grateful every day - but I am very aware it doesn’t always happen like that.” She gripped Emma’s hands. “So maybe you haven’t found your True Love yet - but that doesn’t mean you _ever_ stop looking.”

Emma dropped her head, muscle worked overtime in her jaw. Her mother’s unfailing optimism rankled, but also secretly soothed.

“There are so many wonderful people out there, Emma, people who would never think of betraying you. Or if they do screw up, like your dad did in Neverland, they will do _everything_ they can to make it up to you. Nobody’s perfect... But there are men out there who will love you for exactly who you are. Or,” Mary Margaret added smoothly, “…women.”

Emma jolted as though she’d been shot; choked, “Excuse me?”

“I mean, Elsa—”

“Oh, wow, we are not talking about this.”

“—She’s very nice. You two seem close. I know she’s going home to Arendelle—”

“Elsa’s just a friend.”

“--But there are others. I don’t know, maybe… Ruby?”

“Do not try and set me up with Ruby.”

“Love comes in so many different packages, Emma. I just want you to be happy—”

“Nope. Nope, we are not talking about my love life.”

“But, you have one…?”

“Goodbye, Mom.” Emma fled the room.

Mary Margaret perched on the edge of the bed. She smiled to herself, bright and devious. “Oh yeah, she has one.”

*

Emma all but crashed into Regina coming up the curved staircase. In the crush, Emma stole a moment, fingers curled in Regina’s lapels, face buried against her throat, the spiced-apple, expensive-perfumed scent of her.

Emma was still pissed – mad Regina hadn’t come to her sooner, mad she’d let the aftermath of the curse drag on for so long, mad that Regina currently wore so many clothes… Emma’s mind was a fissured place. Regina stroked Emma’s waist through her grey leather jacket and Emma forgot most of it.

“Are you alright?” Regina asked, voice low and brittle. “You seemed--”

Mary Margaret’s feet sounded above them, and Emma pushed them both nonchalantly back against the wall. “Hey Mom,” she called as the woman approached, “could you keep an eye on Hook for a minute? Regina and I have to talk about something.”

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow, paused on the step behind. “Anything I should know about?”

“It’s just Henry,” Emma glossed. “Something Regina and I needed to sort out.”

Her mother seemed to take that at face-value. “Well, don’t be long. You know he’ll come looking for you.”

Emma grinned lopsidedly and squeezed Mary Margaret’s arm as she passed. As her footsteps trailed away, Emma led Regina up to the landing. There was a wary brittleness to Regina’s jaw, trepidation in espresso eyes. Emma’s brow furrowed. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Regina bluffed. But her tone suggested _everything_ , and she sighed. “If this… whatever it is you have with Hook—”

“ _Had_ , Regina – _had._ And we’ve already had this conversation.” Irritation clenched Emma’s jaw. “There’s nothing between me and Hook.”

Regina hadn’t meant for her jealousy to start that conversation in the vault either. When it came to Emma, her feelings simply got the better of her, or rather the worst. Regina rolled uncomfortable shoulders, mouth full of chagrin. “I know, you just seemed… upset--”

“Not about Hook and not about that. I’m just pissed because everyone keeps lying to me, keeps keeping things from me because they think they’re protecting me but _I don’t need their protection_.”

Rebuffed, Regina realised this was as much about her. “So, I’m just another idiot?”

Emma let that rest on a curved eyebrow.

Regina smiled in spite of herself, tugged Emma in by the back of her neck and kissed her fiercely but with infinitesimal softness; she danced intricately with Emma’s tongue, body needy and curved. Regina’s hand rode the gap between Emma’s jeans and leather jacket, found her skin there, sensitive and smooth; fingers played portamento over Emma’s ribs, palm crushed against the lace of Emma’s bra and when Emma moaned, Regina stole it with her mouth.

When she finally released Emma, ragged and breathless, the blonde had lost all of her swagger and many of her bones. Emma leant heavily on Regina’s chest, curled strands of blonde tickled Regina’s nose and they smelled like cinnamon and sunlight. It was a ridiculous notion, but Regina basked in it.

“We should get back,” Emma murmured against her collarbone. “The sooner we get this mess sorted out, the sooner I can get you somewhere… _naked_.”

A chuckle rolled from Regina’s throat, husky and deep. “I see your priorities are as reputable as always, Miss Swan.”

Emma shoved Regina back against the balustrade, a rough kiss that ended in a loosely bitten lip. “Don’t you know it, lady.” She nudged Regina towards the stairs, asked lowly, “So, you just came up here to check how I was?”

Regina brushed aside the taunting tone. “Not quite. Your sparkly _friend_ and her two imbeciles have realised the portal door leads to Arendelle. They are becoming increasingly irritating, and I thought escape was better than a fireball.”

“My ‘ _friend’_?” Emma asked, with no small amount of ire. “Really Regina, you too? Elsa is—”

“I know,” Regina held up placating hands. She had hoped Emma would miss her accidental inflection -- But then, Emma Swan rarely missed anything. “I’m being an idiot again. So if you’d just ignore me, maybe we can finally get your _many_ friends home.”

Hand on the bannister, Emma muttered, “I wouldn’t exactly call Anna a friend…”

Regina snorted, smirked her agreement. She leant into Emma’s hair, whispered against the sensitive shell of her ear, “Either way, as soon as they’re gone, we’ll have better, more _naked_ places to be…”

Emma grinned, was about to agree but Regina wasn’t done. Regina cupped Emma’s ass, ran a hand over the curve and pushed between Emma’s thighs, fingers pressed tightly into the rigid denim heat of her. Emma strangled a moan and Regina nipped lightly at her ear. “I’m going to fuck you, Emma, until mine is the only name you remember.”

Emma stumbled on the step, fell heavy against the bannister. Regina brushed by her, left Emma unable to do more than watch her descend. The languid roll of Regina’s hips made promises Emma knew her body would keep - just as soon as they were done with Arendelle and Rumpelstiltskin.

Emma hoped the wait wouldn’t kill her.

*****

 

**_17\. [ Take my heart ]_ **

“She’s here!” Anna clapped her hands as Emma stepped off the final tread of the staircase and looked around to see what the deal was. “--Now can we go?”

“Not yet,” Elsa huffed tersely, as though the question had been asked too many times before. Knowing her sister, it had.

“Were we waiting for me?” Emma asked, confused. “Why? Should I be doing something?”

Elsa smiled, reached out and took Emma’s arms as she walked towards her, lost. “No, we’re just glad you’re back. But it is urgent that I get home to Arendelle, and stop Hans. Have you and Regina figured out a way to remove this Mr Gold’s spell?”

“Uhh…” Emma’s mouth stuttered reflexively. _Didn’t really take the time to talk about that…_ “No, not yet.” She winced at Elsa’s fallen expression. “Sorry Elsa - but we will, we’ll find a way. You shouldn’t let that keep you here.”

“Yes,” Regina agreed roughly. “By all means, go…”

“It’s settled then!” Anna skipped to the ornate door and reached for the handle.

“Anna, no!” Elsa commanded. “I already told you, we are going to stay until I know that Emma and her family can leave this place.”

“Elsa…”

The statuesque blonde turned to Emma, eyes determined and sincere. “Emma, you helped me so much when I got here, even after I’d trapped you. I found my sister because of you. I am not leaving until I know my powers can’t help you in this situation.”

Emma smiled at her, fond and warm, and almost heard Regina’s gnashed teeth over Anna’s moody huff. _It’s so nice to have friends._

“So what are we thinking?” Mary Margaret asked, hand against the open front door. “Just throw at it everything we’ve got?”

Regina scoffed loudly.

“Yeah I suggested it, but Regina seems to think it’s a terrible idea.” Emma shrugged. “But hey, I’m still game.”

“Of course you are.” Regina fixed her with a dry glare.

“Has anyone tried a window?” Henry swung open the heavy wood-framed glass and a cold breeze rolled through. Night had settled in, stippled with stars, mosaicked urgency – they were running out of time. He reached out into it.

“No! Henry!--”

It was too late for Regina to stop him. Filigreed crimson mauled her son’s fingertips and the shock threw him; he landed brutishly on the hall floor and then his mothers were around him, frantic, the name _Henry! Henry!_ on panicked repeat. Shoulders on Regina’s knees, hand tight in Emma’s, both women healed his wounds before he had time to really feel their effects.

“I’m ok! I’m ok!” Henry insisted, more stressed and flustered by the overwhelming response.  

“Stupid boy,” Regina scolded, then looked away when Emma stared -- It was said out of fear and they all knew it.

“Geez, Moms, this is…” He smirked at them, struggled; got to his feet, hindered more than helped by either of them. “Enough, ok?”

Regina still fussed, and Emma gave them space, watched this little family, something she felt more a part of than she ever had before. Two families, and Emma barely knew what to do with one. Behind her tentative smile, words burbled into her mouth - Emma wanted to say _I love you, Henry_ … but she couldn’t guarantee his would be the only name that came out, so she swallowed it down. _Get a grip, Swan…_

Emma forced herself back to the entranceway and ploughed on. “So, we try this thing with the door? Regina, me and Elsa, all our magic at once, see if we can punch a hole through this thing?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Regina hissed behind her. “You saw what just happened to Henry, you felt what that thing can do when you try to walk through it - what do you think will happen if we pour that much power in?”

“I don’t know…” Emma tilted her head without turning, “– fireworks, maybe?”

Before Regina’s rage-filled sound went any further, Elsa laid a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Regina’s right. Just trying will probably get us all killed.”

Emma stood down, because of course Regina was right. She simply poked at Regina for her own reasons, not very good ones -- fear mostly, and a little habit.

“Elsa…”

Elsa turned to her younger sister.

“Elsa, I’m sorry, but if your powers can’t help here… Your kingdom needs you. _I_ need you. Kristoff and I – we can’t do this alone.” It was an honest plea, heartfelt and for a second Emma forgot just how annoying the redhead could be.

“I know…” Tone devastated, Elsa took Emma’s hands and looked at her with melt-water eyes. “Emma—”

But Emma was distracted. Fixated on the portal, an idea had formed, muddled and rushed in Emma’s mind. “What if we all go? What if we all went through to Arendelle?”

Over Henry’s shoulder, Regina muttered, “Finally she’s lost what little she had…”

“No, hear me out…” As the idea gripped her, Emma strode across the hall, placed her hand on the door’s wooden panels. “We go through the portal to Arendelle, and then we make our way back here. It’s not like it’s that hard to get to the Enchanted Forest - Anna took a boat.”

Regina relinquished her son, stormed to join the gaggle at the portal door. “This is a ridiculous idea, and a waste of time.”

“I don’t know, Regina,” Mary Margaret interceded. “It doesn’t look like we have much choice, and we’re definitely wasting time just standing around here.”

Regina bristled, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Fine. Say we make this _ridiculous_ journey… Once we are in the Enchanted Forest, how do you propose we get back to Storybrooke, Miss Swan? Fly?”

“Sure, it if works…” She smirked at Regina’s disdain. There was fire in her ribs - Emma revelled in this, it was why they worked. Emma threw everything at the wall, then Regina pared it back into something useful. “I dunno – so we find a magic bean, or a mirror, or an enchanted tree or a million other things that apparently make portals. For something that’s meant to be so rare, it seems like there’s just a butt-load of them lying around.”

“This is exactly what Rumpelstiltskin wants!” Regina yelled. “He wants us to be distracted, so out of the way that he can enact his spell without any interference from Storybrooke’s _heroes_.” She almost added _Or villains_ , but it seemed morose and she stopped herself. “You think he hasn’t planned for this? By the time we find a way home he will be out in the world, and there won’t be a _thing_ we can do to stop him.”

“You don’t know that!” Emma shouted back. “You don’t know what we could do over there, you don’t know what we’ll find, what we can bring back -- It’s the Enchanted Forest, for fuck’s sake; there’s friggin’ unicorns—”

“You want to hang your hope on a _unicorn_?” Regina’s bellow was strangled. “All that will tell you, is your future no longer exists! We don’t have time to make that journey -- If we go through the portal to Arendelle, we may as well never come back!”

“No!” Mary Margaret flailed, stricken, as though it were a serious option. “I can’t, I—What if I called David? What if he stops Gold, do you think that might take down the spell?”

“I don’t know!” Regina snapped, voice still hoarse and loud. But she considered it, conceded, “Maybe…”

“No cell coverage,” Emma interjected, still riled. “Not since Henry called.”

“Um, excuse me...”

“We can’t go through that portal,” Mary Margaret pleaded. “I can’t miss another child growing up, not even for a minute – I just can’t!”

“Um, yoo-hoo - did anyone--”

“Mom, don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.” Emma put her arm around Mary Margaret’s shoulders, wracked with sobs. “We won’t go through the portal unless it’s absolutely—”

“HEY!” All eyes were suddenly on Anna; she reddened like her hair. “Sorry to interrupt, but did anyone else notice that the strange-looking man with the hook has gone?”

Startled disbelief -- It led to a hurried visual search of the Main Hall but Hook was not there and there was nowhere to hide. Henry raced out through the partition at the rear of the room; Mary Margaret checked the small library to one side where Gold had set the Apprentice’s hat - both came up empty.

Emma stared at Kristoff, seated at the bottom of the stairs, chin in his hands, a bored, vacant expression on his face. “Hey, Moose Boy…” He looked up, surprised. “Did Hook get past you over there?”

“No, no one did…”

She reluctantly believed him. He was dopey, but not blind. “Then where the hell…” Emma realised Regina was not beside her; turned and found the woman a few steps from the opened front door.

Two fingers against her mouth, thumb under her chin, elbow tucked onto a folded arm, her brow pensive – Emma knew that look. It was where the action happened. She strode to Regina, asked, “Whatuvya got?”

Regina tapped her lips. “Gold wanted all of us here. That’s why he set me up with the dagger – and I can only presume he knew you would follow me.”

“Yeah, how did he know that?” Emma asked quietly.

“Probably because he’s met you,” Regina drawled. Then she murmured, “Though I’d say Hook played a part in that too…”

“Hook? What the hell would he know about it?” _How would anyone know? I didn’t know..._

Regina turned fathomless eyes on her, the kind that asked _Really?_ ; that withered and made Emma fidget all at the same time – but all Regina said was, “Probably a lot less than he thinks.”

_What more is there? This is everything..._

Regina went on. “Gold also knew he had to get your parents out of the way, lest they do something heroic, like stop him. I imagine that’s why he conjured the portal, and sent Hook out to bring everyone here.”

“Ok…” Emma absorbed the information slowly. “So where’s Hook? Did Gold just poof him outta here?”

Regina shook her head. The others had slowly joined them - now her red lips parted triumphantly. Regina loved a big reveal. “I think he _walked_.”

“ _What_?” Mary Margaret eyed her like she’d lost her mind.

Emma shook her head. “How is that even possible? We know what happens when you try and cross that thing – it’s painful and it’s bad and it really just… shits on your day.”

“That eloquence aside…” Regina frowned. “What’s the one thing we all have that Hook doesn’t?”

“Dress sense,” Emma muttered.

Mary Margaret swallowed, said breathlessly: “Our hearts…”

“Exactly.” Regina broadened her grin, and before Emma could stop her, Regina had reached into her own chest and pulled out her heart. Shock and repulsion – Henry, Mary Margaret and Emma had at least seen it done before but the Arendelle trio were truly horrified, swooned into each other in varying degrees.

All business, Regina thrust the glowing organ at Emma. “Here, hold this.” Emma was gape-mouthed, her fingers shook and Regina glared at her. “Don’t. Drop it.”

Emma stared at her unsteady hands, at the glimmered sheen of muscle and vessels cupped unnaturally there. It was warm, and she guessed it should be but it felt wrong to be doing this, too much power, too much responsibility all at once and Emma whispered, “God this is creepy.”

“And so metaphorical…” Anna chirped from the back, followed by an _oomph_ as Elsa elbowed her ribs.

“What?” from Mary Margaret.

“Nothing!” Elsa said brightly. “Just something that happens in our land. All the time. This just, reminds us of that.”

Regina had crossed the threshold without issue, returned victorious and was completely unbothered by the fact that Emma held her heart in her hands – until she saw her face.

“Take it,” Emma rasped, a tremor in her voice. “Take it back.”

Jade-green welled with saltwater, a tumultuous sea - Regina didn’t know what to make of it. Her eyes narrowed, she scooped her heart from Emma’s outstretched hands. “Are you—”

Emma goose-stepped backwards. She breathed raggedly, choked, a great weight dragged on her curtained hair. Her palms felt sticky with Regina’s heart despite there being no blood, despite the magical precision of it all; it weighed heavily on Emma, the trust, the vulnerability - Regina was meant to have none of these things. This was merely a slight of hand, a precautionary gesture yet it felt like so much more.

_She gave me her heart…_

But it was not the time or the place for this breakdown. Emma gathered her swirling parts, squared her shoulders, sniffed, raised her stubborn head and by the time she was back in the world, she was composed. “Okay… So, that worked.” Emma threw back her hair. “I’m coming with you. Do me.”

“Emma, no!” Mary Margaret lurched at her, palm pressed against Emma’s sternum - she protected her daughter’s heart. “I won’t let you do it, Regina.”

“I’m not going to do it,” Regina chided. She was still rattled by what she had seen. “And I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”

Emma started to object but before she could, Elsa put a hand on her shoulder. This was a longer conversation than her people had time for. “Emma, we have to go…”

“Oh. Right.” So much was going on, and Emma’s ribs hurt even though nothing had been physically pulled from her yet. A lot had been taken already. And now this.

Elsa smiled at her, warm and reluctant, the kind of yearning Emma was only now starting to understand. Emma had never had a sister, but she imagined it felt like this.

“This is it…”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Elsa led Emma past the portal door into a space more private, if only because everyone seemed to respect their moment just for now.  

“Emma…” Elsa took her hands, and Emma held on so tightly she thought they both might break. “I want to thank you, for everything… You’ve done so much, and I could never repay you.” Elsa smiled, clutched Emma impossibly tighter. “But more than that, I wanted you to know… There is so much _love_ in you, Emma, more than anyone could understand. Definitely more than you do.”

Emma lowered her eyes, mouth tinged by something that caught shadows in the taller blonde’s overwhelming belief.

Elsa tucked Emma into a tight embrace, and in the privacy of Emma’s hair, whispered, “I don’t know what will happen with Regina. But whatever you do - don’t let her go just because it scares you. You can’t run forever, Emma. And no matter how many walls you build around yourself – ice or otherwise…” Elsa smiled ruefully, “there comes a point where they are not protecting you anymore. Sometimes you just have to let someone in.”

When Elsa tried to pull away, Emma gripped her tighter. Eyes closed, Elsa smelled like crisp air and winter pine trees - and now, loss. Emma would miss her, more than any friend she’d ever made and there were so few. None like this.

Emma let her go. “It’s time…”

Anna and Kristoff waited at the portal door, Regina, Henry and Mary Margaret a few feet away. No one was really sure what would happen when Emma opened the door - magic could be unpredictable. Emma reached for the handle and as it opened, a sickly sweet smell wafted through. _Chocolate._

It was brief after that, hurried; long glances with Elsa and Anna, a fleeting one with Kristoff as they filed past her, and then they were gone. Emma shut the door after them; took a moment and rested her head against it. The week suddenly caught up with her.  

“Emma…” Her mother’s voice, softly coaxed.

Emma pushed her torso to a weary angle. This was not over yet. Not by a mile. “Right.” Emma turned on the wood, leant her shoulders against the Arendelle door, boots crossed at the ankle, arms folded on her chest. “We’re running out of time – what’s the big deal about taking my heart?”

Regina and Mary Margaret stared at each other, a conversation Emma didn’t follow.

Her mother turned, wary. “Honey, the process is painful and I don’t want—”

“Whatever Gold has in store for us is gonna hurt a lot more,” Emma dismissed. “Regina can’t do this alone, and I’m not waiting around while—”

“I can’t take it from you anyway,” Regina interrupted blandly. “It’s not possible. You’ll have to wait here.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Emma pushed upright. “Why can’t you take my heart?”

“Let’s call it a _quirk_ of being the Savior. Have you forgotten what happened with Cora?”

Emma had not. She remembered it vividly; the fear, the excruciating pain when Regina’s mother put her hand into her chest and squeezed, the sickening thunk of her knuckles against the wrong side of Emma’s ribs. It was not a pleasant memory.

Emma swallowed thickly. “Okay, well – what if I give you, I don’t know… magical permission or something?”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Once again, your lack of understanding about the laws of magic astounds me.”

Emma glared, stepped into the resistant woman. “Fine – show me how to do it.”

Regina laughed, over-exaggerated and slightly forced, a sneered curve to her mouth. “Certainly, Miss Swan. Let me teach you a technique it took me years to perfect, in the space of… however many minutes we have left.” Regina rolled her own heart in her nervous hand. “No, I think it’s better if you just stayed here.”

“And I don’t think you have a choice,” Emma challenged. “Either you show me how to do this thing, or I’ll figure it out myself because you are not going after Rumpelstiltskin alone.” She raised her dimpled chin. “A lot of room for trial and error in heart-removal, right?”

“Moms!” Henry buffeted up against their rising tide of conflict, hand on Regina’s wrist where she clenched uncomfortably, a tightness to her chest. “Take mine! Take Mary Margaret’s!” Hazel eyes implored Emma, “Don’t worry – we’ll look after her. We’ll help her stop Gold.”

“Henry, no…” Regina ducked down, hand on her son’s shoulder. Emma wheeled away, tension not quite dispersed. “Henry, I can’t let you do that.”

“I want to. I want to help – and Emma’s right, you can’t do this alone.”

Regina looked up helplessly - at Emma’s set jaw, her ramrod spine; Mary Margaret stood close behind her, a hand on her taut shoulder.

Reluctantly, Mary Margaret sighed and stepped forward. “Oh, take mine. I’ll go with you.”

Emma spun round, green eyes bored into her mother’s helpless gaze. “You are not going with her - _I am_. You have a baby to think about, and my father, and he would kill me if you got hurt.”

Mary Margaret’s face cooled, a stubborn flash that rivalled Emma’s. “Yeah, well, I’m not letting my daughter tear out her own heart just to accompany a woman - who will do just fine by herself, by the way – in order to stop a villain like Gold. So it’s settled then.” Mary Margaret nodded curtly to herself, pushed Emma aside and stood with her chest proudly raised. “Alright, Regina – do your worst.”

“Suddenly everyone’s offering me their hearts,” Regina muttered drily. “What a magical day.”

“Enough!” Emma put her fingertips to her chest, to the place Cora had reached, to the place that thump-thudded with everything that terrified her - and pressed in.

It hurt – boy did it hurt; a burning, tearing feeling, fingernails like knives and Emma lost her breath, her balance – but not her nerve. She pushed harder, heard a ringing sound like high-pitched voices and then – everything was wrenched away.

Emma stumbled, fell into Regina’s arms, gasped against her chest, Regina’s hand claw-like on her arm as she held it from her body.

“Foolish girl!” Regina thundered, the Evil Queen in her mouth; majestic, commanding, resonant. “What were you _thinking_?”

“I’m going with you,” Emma mumbled against her suit jacket. “Whether you like it or not.”

Regina exhaled angrily, muscle roiled in her clenched jaw but Emma felt that she shook; Regina’s body trembled and not just with supressed rage. Regina was scared. She had frightened her. Emma wanted to wrap her up, to crush her in her arms, hold her so tightly, apologise and reassure, to wipe her eyes and kiss her, hard and long – but she couldn’t, not here.

Emma tore herself away. She was able to stand on her own. She pushed her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat. “I guess it’s settled then…” Emma’s grin was supposed to soothe her worried mother and son, but it felt unnatural on her teeth. She couldn’t convince them she’d be fine if she didn’t entirely believe it herself.

Emma gave in, turned bleakly to Regina. “So, do I try that again, or are you gonna give me that magic lesson?”

*****


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Emma’s mouth was everywhere; Regina pulled her closer, tighter against her skin – they had so little time but her need was greater than all of it, uncontainable."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos and comments have been wonderful as always -- thank you so much for taking the time. 
> 
> Slam comp season is over for another year so I'm back here in earnest :) Thanks for putting up with my absence - I do hope you think this was worth it. It's so nice to be back. Oh, and-- This chapter is **explicit**. Please take note of the warnings above.
> 
> It's about to get hot in here. I hope this sufficiently rewards your patience. And thanks again :)

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_18\. [ Love me harder ]_ **

There was a second, just after a curse rolled in, or lightning struck a dock but thunder had not yet rumbled, or snow fell thickly in a gale which ended suddenly, when the world felt unnaturally muted. Regina felt that now. She felt it in part because her heart was no longer in her chest, but there was more to it.

She and Emma were in a different bedroom this time, luxurious and well-furnished, tucked away further down the mansion’s long hall - Regina had wanted a little distance between she and the ropes that had tied her to the wardrobe, between her and the spectre of the Evil Queen; between them and the family members downstairs.

Regina had asked for privacy, quiet; Mary Margaret and Henry agreed immediately. It was true that they needed time and space to work this spell, but what Regina really wanted was a moment alone with Emma, needed it after what had happened downstairs.

It wasn’t so much the clumsy attempt Emma made with her magic - that was terrifying but almost expected. Emma’s stubbornness was less a streak, more a four-laned highway she hurtled down at any given time, regardless of obstacles.

The problem came earlier, when Regina handed over her heart.

It wasn’t meant to represent anything. It was just a muscle, just an organ pulled magically from Regina’s chest as it had been so many times before, yet something happened, it mattered - clearly it mattered because Emma lost herself in it. Regina had watched unable to halt the sudden freefall Emma spiralled into, that very deliberate moment when her heart had almost been tossed wildly, thrown to a dark corner as Emma fled towards the horizon.

After all they had gone through today, last night, the past week - it was unexpected. The shaky structure of trust beneath Regina’s feet tilted precariously.

Emma had not stilled since they entered this room. She bounced on her toes, touched the décor; prowled a caged tiger, all tensed shoulders and ready to run. Regina assessed her; the nervous energy, the aggressive twitch with a calculating gaze.

Regina needed to know what it meant when Emma held that deceptively innocuous lump of flesh -- How deep did the panic go? But time was short and Gold pushed always against them. The brunette supressed her need beneath well-practiced efficiency; huffed, set her mouth in a taut line: “Miss Swan – is all your fidgeting really necessary?”

“I don’t know, _Madame Mills_ – is it?” Emma bounced, flicked short nails across her palms, shook her hands like she dried them. “This is the part where we tear out my heart, right? Excuse me if I’m not as ready for that as you are.”

Burnt-wood eyes narrowed. Regina pushed Emma’s dig aside, patted the bed pointedly for her to sit but the anxious almost-dance continued -- _Bounce-bounce step; flick-flick bounce._ “If you don’t want to do this Emma, I am more than capable of confronting Gold myself.”

“Not a chance,” Emma gravelled, and consciously stilled her feet. She tucked long, unruly hair behind her ears and strode towards the bed.

Regina waited as Emma settled in. They faced each other, though one of Emma’s boots remained on the floor, lanky legs angular. There was a strangeness to the room, a distance though their knees pressed close on the foreign comforter.

“Ok, shoot,” Emma said, and picked at the stitches of fine leather.

Regina stared - Emma’s distracted air was at odds with the situation. “This is not something you take a _shot_ at, Emma. Pulling someone’s heart out is not target practice - it is a weapon, or it can be, and there are consequences. It is important that you understand how dangerous it is before we begin.”

Emma raised her head slowly, her eyes glinted green fire, copper held over a Bunsen. “You think I don’t know that, Regina? What it means to take out my heart? I know what it means when that happens. I’ve been to your vault, I’ve seen your trophy wall.”

 _What is happening here?_ Regina felt like they were having another conversation, one that lurked beneath the surface, ready to strike her. “My _trophy_ wall?”

Emma wanted to siphon the words back as soon as they spilled from her; at Regina’s flint-cold stare she mostly just wanted to drown. But neither thing would happen, and she was worked up enough to push through. “I know you used to do this all the time and I know why you did it. You’re, I dunno - a collector?”

Regina hardened her jaw. The past was not something she would deny, but that didn’t make it easier to hear these things falling from Emma’s mouth. They were not pretty, and it was unexpected. “That wall was started by my mother. And it was continued by the Evil Queen--”

“--And she’s a part of you,” Emma said plainly. “So this should be easy. Just another heart.”

The words whined between them, a violin strung to breaking.

Regina said nothing, even her face slipped behind a thick wall of silence. She turned her crossed legs and put her feet to the floor; stood smoothly, a regal gathering of height. Her heels made little sound on the thick carpet, but Emma felt each vibration rattle through her as Regina walked away.

“Regina, wait!” There was no way this woman would do that, Emma knew, and she leapt from the bed after her; grabbed her arm just inches from the door. Regina whipped around, a tornado of dark hair and black-sea eyes.

“I’m sorry, ok?” Emma begged. “I didn’t mean that. I mean, I did, I meant – I meant that you were… you used to be… God, why am I not better at this now?” It wasn’t like Emma hadn’t had a lot of practice at pissing Regina off, or offending her, or putting her foot in it but this was a new thing, this caring about the aftereffects and knowing Regina cared what she said too.

“I just meant that I understand the consequences,” Emma backtracked. “And I am… shit-scared.” Emma hung her head, breathed a little honesty back into her chest because it had fractured some downstairs, when Regina thrust over her heart. “I wanna do this, I’m gonna do this and I need you to teach me because you are not going out there alone. But this is a big thing, I know that. It takes a lot of… trust and that makes me, I dunno - weird sometimes.”

Regina raised an eyebrow, not yet satisfied.

“And I guess… kinda mean? Rude? Impolite?” Emma raised her hands, shoulders shrugged to her ears. “Just a complete raging bitch, I don’t know – help a girl out here.”

A smile twitched the corner of Regina’s mouth even though she hadn’t intended to relent. Something about Emma’s hopeful chin, or the way her green eyes seemed so much bigger when she felt more than she could verbalise – which was a lot – made Regina give in faster and more often than she wanted to. _This could be a problem in the future…_

Regina paused. The thought had bubbled unbidden. _A future? Is that what I want?_

_Could we have a future?_

Regina had never planned for this, had fought against it for so long but despite everything, she couldn’t deny she had started to think that maybe they might, tentatively and though it unnerved her.

First they had to get through Rumpel, through whatever had happened downstairs. “Emma--”

“Right!” Emma clapped her hands together, rubbed her palms and made her way back to the bed. “Show me how to do this thing.”

Regina’s mouth stuttered closed. She sighed quietly to herself, steeled her spine and returned to the overstuffed mattress. _It can wait. For now._

Cross-legged, Emma pounded on the comforter, an anxiously jagged beat. “How do we start?”

Regina sat smoothly on the edge of the bed, hands tucked between her thighs. “We still haven’t talked about the dangers--”

“Yeah, I get it.” Emma rolled her shoulders uncomfortably. “Once my heart is out, all bets are off. Anyone who gets it can control me, if they crush it it kills me – And mostly in between I won’t feel, well, anything.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Regina moved her hands onto her suited knees. “Emma, we should talk about what it feels like to be heartless. I mean, _truly_ heartless.”

Emma scratched at her elbow. “I thought not-feeling was the whole point.”

“It is, in part…” Regina stared at the ceiling, worried her lip, searched for the words to describe what she knew could really only be experienced. But Regina wished she’d had a warning the first time she tried this, and she would do her best for Emma now. “Removing your heart doesn’t mean you won’t feel anything, it’s more…”

 _A deadening._  

Regina tried for something less morbid. “It numbs you. The people you love - you will still feel something for them, but it will be… very far away.”

Emma shrugged, said quietly, “Doesn’t sound that bad.”

Consternation hardened Regina’s eyes. “You will look at Henry, at our son, and know you would die for him but not quite be able to grasp why. The habit will be there, the memory, but that true depth of feeling will be gone. It will be gone for _everyone_. The people around you, the people you cared for, you won’t feel…” Regina trailed off.

Emma took a moment. There was something in Regina’s tone, something that prickled her skin and Emma knew Regina was trying to tell her more, trying to let her know something important in a roundabout way. Emma wasn’t stupid, certainly not as thick as she sometimes made herself out to be -- She did that mostly to avoid these kinds of conversations.

But it had something to do with the itch Emma felt in her sternum, the dryness of her throat, the feeling of a handprint etched on her spine every time Regina stood just a little too close, even more when she was too far away. Recently, any distance from Regina was too far away. The problem was, that if Regina felt it too, then...

_What is this?_

_What am I supposed to do with this?_

Emma didn’t know what to call it; maybe she just wanted to avoid naming it for a little while longer, so she skipped past the opening Regina left. “Regina, I’m gonna take out my heart and I’m gonna give it to Henry and Mary Margaret, and I’m gonna hope they can keep it safe long enough for us to take down Gold. Then you can put it back in my chest and - problem solved.”

“Is that right?” Regina drawled, voice like the desert. She crossed her arms, chest bowed against them.

“Oh, _what_?” Emma’s exasperation elongated the word, thinned like her patience. “C’mon Regina, let’s just do this thing, it’s time.”

“No.”

The next noise from Emma was strangled, words that wanted to come out but couldn’t - mostly swearing. “I don’t-- What more is there? Just rip out my heart already!”

Regina snapped: “That’s not something I can do.”

Emma began to correct herself; Regina reached for the heart she had left on the pillow and brought it around to rest between them. Emma jerked away. “What’re you doing?”

“What do you mean ‘ _what am I doing_ ’?” Regina’s face was hostile, a mask she hid her hurt behind. “If you want to learn how to take out a heart you’ll need to practice, and I won’t have you trying on yourself again until I know that you’re ready. We don’t exactly have a lot of horses around, so we’ll work with what we have -- and that is _my_ heart.”

“Regina—”

“Pick it up,” she demanded.

Emma stared at it, at her, back at this thing that hung between them bright and hard, a constellate swirl of black and red. Regina waited, watched as Emma’s pupils contracted, lips thinned, thumb rubbed nervously against the palm of her hand.

“It’s not an explosive device, Emma. But if you’re scared of it…” Regina sat back, privately desolate. “I suppose there’s not much more we can do here.” She tensed to stand.

“Wait.” Emma reached over the thing, put her hand on Regina’s knee. “I’m not scared, I’m not.” Her voice quavered and gave her away. “It’s just, I dunno—”

“ _What_?”

Emma stopped herself before she said _creepy_ again, because she knew Regina would never let her get away with that. Regina wanted more, needed it, and Emma knew she deserved it but that moment downstairs had fragmented her, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with the pieces. Emma had swept them into a corner and just hoped everyone would ignore them being there.

“Emma…”

“What do you want me to say, Regina?” Emma asked plaintively. She raised herself up, inhaled a breath but at the pinnacle her lungs expanded too much, skin stretched too tight and she shattered. Emma came apart at places she didn’t even know she had, places made lax with disuse, worn bare from reckless overuse; she shuddered into a sob pulled wretchedly from her contorted mouth. “You gave me your _heart_!”

Regina watched her break, alarmed, Emma raw and flayed; said, “Emma, it’s just a heart—”

“No! No it isn’t! It’s yours, Regina – it is _your_ heart.” Saltwater pooled and spilled into Emma’s mouth; she gulped it, barely enough air to keep going. “All those things we talked about, the dangerous crap and the consequences, people controlling you and fucking _killing_ you – you gave me all of that, _all_ of it, just handed it over like it was nothing and it wasn’t nothing, it wasn’t, it was…” Emma shuddered off into breathlessness.

Regina caught the last wisp of oxygen in the room, whispered: “Everything.”

_I gave you everything._

“Yes!” Emma heaved. “That’s exactly what it was, and I dunno what to do with that, I dunno-- What if I hurt you, or what if I… squeeze too hard or what if I make you do something you don’t want to do or what if I break something, or-- what if--”

“What if you drop it?” Regina offered gently, unable to help the mildly flippant shadow that crept along the shimmer in her eyes.

“No, I’m not– Yeah, ok, what if I drop it?”

“That would be messy,” Regina nodded, picked up the glowing thing and eyed it thoughtfully. “It’s not easy to find a place that will dry clean a heart. The fairies used to offer a service in the Enchanted Forest - ran a _roaring_ trade in winter.”

Emma stared at her, eyes like slitted blades. She recognised the undertone, the crinkled nook at the corner of Regina’s mouth -- Emma’s ribs still quaked, a salt mine poured from her face yet this woman sat here and _teased_ her. “Fuck you, Regina.”

“But we’re not talking about my heart anymore, are we?” Regina looked gently over her raised hand, the thing still in her palm.

“Yeah we are,” Emma snapped.

“No -- At least, not this one. Not the one I handed you.”

Emma wiped her nose with her sleeve and didn’t give a damn what Regina thought of it.

“Here I thought there were only two idiots in your family…” Regina smiled ruefully. “It seems I was wrong.”

“The _fuck_ does that mean?” But Emma knew. They weren’t talking about the rubbery thing Regina thrust at her - of course they weren’t. This was something heavier, more palpable than a regularly palpitating thing in a chest, a thing that sat quietly in Regina’s hand and never once let on that it was the cause of all this expulsion.

This was about her -- Regina Mills: Evil Queen and arch enemy, mother to Emma’s son and obstacle in her life, former Mayor of Storybrooke and current holder of everything Emma was. It was about the sneer and the smirk, the iron and the silk, the guttural coarseness of her voice and the fire in her tongue, the power in her hands and wild neediness between her thighs. It was all of her. All of Regina - it was her. Everything was her. _Everything_.

Emma grabbed Regina up by her shirt, two hands fisted in the collar; she pushed her mouth against Regina’s startled expression. Emma fought against Regina’s impudent sound, the complaint that rose in her larynx, buttons strained and twisted beneath Emma’s fingers gave way at Regina’s breasts, and Emma pushed her hand inside, the other knotted in dark hair.

Emma’s tongue tangled with Regina’s until finally it became a duel, Emma triumphant as the kiss went deeper, harder, made a battleground of their mouths. Regina’s fingers gripped the comforter behind her, arm acutely angled as Emma rose up, arced her body, relinquished red lips for Regina’s jutted jaw, her curved throat, Emma all sharp teeth and lathed tongue.

 _“Emma…_ ”

Any protest fell to a diminuendo moan as Emma bit harder, bruised Regina’s throat, mouth trailed to the edge of Regina’s collarbone and Regina threw her dark head back, bared her hollows explicitly. Fingers pushed into the scalloped hem of satin and lace and Emma traced pebbled areola, pinched puckered hardness and Regina nearly fell under the force of her, whimpered raggedly. This was more than Emma wanting, a desperation to the way the blonde touched her. Emma clawed at Regina’s skin like she wanted to crawl inside and Regina understood -- she understood Emma’s need to push until she felt something better than most.

She wanted to let Emma continue, fire scorched Regina’s skin but without her heart – _I need to feel this. Everywhere._ Regina stilled the hand that teased her nipple, dragged it from her skin though it pained her, her body arced in its wake, chased the touch. “Emma…”

Emma growled low in her throat; her ravenous mouth followed the open V of Regina’s white shirt into black lace and red satin, pink tongue trailed along the paler rise of Regina’s breast and she almost relented again. But there was only so long she could let Emma avoid this thing that had fallen beside them. “Emma please, just… Give me your hand.”

“I’m trying but you keep grabbing at it.”

A wry chuckle rolled from Regina’s throat. “You know what I mean.” She pushed Emma back with a firm palm on her chest. “As much as I enjoy the diversion, Gold will not wait forever.”

Emma breathed fracturedly, cheeks flushed, hair in disarray. She tucked one side roughly behind her ear, the line of her mouth unimpressed. “Gold can go fuck himself.”

“You can fuck me,” Regina purred, the profanity sharp in her teeth and it dragged a shiver along Emma’s spine. “-- Just as soon as this job is done.” Emma groaned, head hung low and Regina leant a smile to her ear, whispered, “Don’t think we’re done talking about my heart yet.”

Cornered-animal eyes flew open; Emma’s head jerked up.

Regina traced her kiss-bruised lips with one fingertip, mouth curved, and she went on smoothly, “Now, put out your hand.” Emma did, distracted and Regina’s heart was in it a moment later, carefully and surely. “There now, that wasn’t hard.”

Emma cocked an eyebrow, eyes churned sea-foam with too much white around the edges. Despite all they had just said, this still overwhelmed her - not the organ but the three little words hidden in its chambers. Emma swallowed against them. “Fine, now what do I do with it?”

Regina watched her carefully - the tremor was still there but Emma fought it, and Regina couldn’t ask more of her than that. Emma’s tendency to flee, from heaviness and consequences echoed Regina’s own instinct to lash out when uncomfortable; Regina pushed others away with vicious hands and a razorblade tongue, and the only real difference between the two of them was geography.

Now Regina lowered her voice, dropped it to the base of her lungs; it was a tone that soothed Henry when he woke from a nightmare. “A heart always knows where it belongs. It isn’t easy to take out, but it is simple enough to put back.” She reached for Emma’s wrist, pulled her unwilling arm to her chest and smiled darkly. “It just needs a good shove.”

Quietly, Emma asked, “Will it hurt you?”

Regina stroked her thumb over Emma’s tendon. “Not if you don’t want to. Focus on putting it back where it’s supposed to be. _Concentrate_.”

Emma looked finally at the glowing muscle pressed against Regina’s exposed sternum, at the strange way the colour matched her bra. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she choked out, and Regina’s fingers tightened on her wrist.

“I know.” Everything welled in black-coffee eyes, pitched in Regina’s throat, vein pulsed in her forehead in time with Emma’s shaking hand. “I don’t want to hurt you either. That doesn’t mean we won’t. I’m not very good at this, but Emma…” Regina pressed the heart to her ribs, reached out with her other hand and moved a wild strand of blonde from Emma’s cheek. “This, my heart… I think you’ve had it longer than either of us wants to admit--”

Emma chose that moment to push in, past warm skin and rigid bone; magic crackled around her clenched fist. Regina hissed sharply -- but apart from a moment of breathlessness and the strange tug that always came before a steady beat returned, Regina felt no pain, just pressure as Emma removed her hand.

“Are you ok?” Emma’s eyes flickered over her, frantic. “Regina? Are you ok?”

Regina’s heart scorched her bones with lightning; a rumbled crash of emotion followed, fierce and crass in that first voluminous moment. Her mouth curved broadly, a wicked glint to wet eyes; she murmured, “ _Very_  good, Miss Swan…”

It was back, it was all back where it belonged and Regina slid her fingers into Emma’s, pushed the blonde’s hand down into satin and lace and Emma needed no more encouragement, Regina’s breast crushed in her palm, mouth crude on hers while her free fingers worked the last of Regina’s strained buttons. Emma moved dextrously where she could and violently where she couldn’t, loose discs and pulled threads in her wake.

A muttered  _Fuck_  as Emma pushed the jacket and shirt from Regina’s body, as though she’d forgotten how beautiful Regina’s skin was, bare from the waistband that rode low on her hips, back arched when Emma dragged her fingernails along the edge of Regina’s bra over her ribs, down her taut stomach. Regina’s muscles quivered as Emma left raised red lines in her wake, Emma’s mouth everywhere and Regina pulled her closer, tighter against her skin – they had so little time but the need was greater than that, uncontainable.

At the belt loops of Regina’s pants, Emma tucked her thumbs in, let her fingertips curve beneath the fabric to the edge of jutted bone. Regina fell back on her elbows, body angled perfectly for Emma’s mouth, the hardened nipple that strained for her lips. An unfettered moan creaked from Regina’s throat as Emma’s tongue found sensitive areola, her teeth on puckered flesh as her hands fumbled much lower with Regina’s button and zip.

When Emma scurried back, Regina whimpered, stomach flexed, fingers reached frantically for the missing fever of her but then Regina’s hips were lifted and her pants pulled away, and Emma’s mouth crashed again to her overheated skin, wet and extravagant. Emma’s hand slid beneath her ass and Regina raised her hips in anticipation, but Emma’s long body rose over her again, tongue begged her lips for entry and Regina welcomed her back into her volatile mouth.

Arms that barely supported Regina were pulled from the mattress, and for a second Regina resisted but her mind hissed for her to  _let go_ ; Regina wound her arms around Emma’s neck, trusted the woman’s strength, the muscle that roiled beneath her fingertips as Emma slipped from the edge of the bed and made her weightless, lifted Regina against her lanky body. Regina wrapped long thighs around Emma’s tapered waist, found purchase on her denim hips and then her back hit roughly against the cool wall, knocked the last bit of sense from her.

Emma kept a strong hand on Regina’s ass, on the bare leg hooked over her hip, supported the earthquake of her, Regina’s other foot barely touched the floor, arched, her toes curled into the carpet as Emma’s tongue trailed a molten path over the ridge of her jaw, the long, wanton line of her throat and Regina breathed fire, the name  _Emma_  burnt across her lips.

Emma ground against Regina’s body as it roiled, pushed her hand into the delicate satin and lace of Regina’s panties, into the hot-heat slickness of her, wet along the lips, wet almost to her thighs and Emma moaned into her neck, tattered and guttural, a fricative  _Jesus_  between her teeth.

Regina’s hand fisted in Emma’s hair, nails clawed at the skin under her leather jacket when Emma found the hard nub of sensitive nerves with the pads of two fingers; her hips jerked, body undulated into her, tightened the circle Emma painted there. Regina commanded harshly into Emma’s ear,  _Harder,_  and  _Emma,_  and  _Fuck me_ ; and Emma groaned, primal and uncontrolled, pushed two long fingers into the begging need of Regina, the ache of her.

Regina’s head slammed back against the plaster and she didn’t care, barely noticed, had room inside her skin only for the sensation of Emma's thrusts, the fullness and absence of her fingers over and over again; Emma’s tricep, the muscle of her shoulder like steel as Regina gripped to it, clutched and clawed while the blonde pushed deeper, harder, all curled fingers and bent knuckles, liquid fire and fierce desperation. Regina rode Emma’s hand, needed more, a ragged plea sobbed from her reckless mouth and another  _Fuck_  fled Emma’s tongue, clung to the sweat on Regina’s skin.

Emma rolled her wrist, pushed in with a third finger; the torsion of Regina’s body slowed her thrusts momentarily but then she moved her thumb up, rubbed against Regina’s throbbing clit and the woman came back to life, wildly bucked against her. Emma knew Regina would not last much longer as the walls around her fingers encroached, squeezed at her bones and she picked up speed, friction and fury against the ridges of Regina’s body, the places that stole her vocabulary, made it impossible for her to keep any semblance of volume control.

Emma called Regina’s mouth with  _Kiss me_ , words at odds with the primal, unrepentant rutting of their bodies but when Regina did, when her hands gave up of every inch of Emma’s skin for the sudden sweetness of her face, Regina came apart. She released a keened, haggard cry into Emma’s mouth, filled with the words she wanted to say but wouldn’t, the things she thought she could never but had started to think she might.

Emma kept pushing, thrusting into the molten wetness of her, Regina’s shuddered hips and tensed thighs, her thumb rode Regina’s clit through the first wave and drove her into another, unapologetic and determined. She swallowed down the whimpered gasp of the tempest and tried for a third, Regina’s body helpless against her.

Boneless but for her fingertips, Regina dug her nails into Emma’s skin until she relented. Emma stilled her hand but never withdrew, knuckle-deep in the one place she could never imagine running from.

Curled into Regina’s body felt like home.

Emma kissed the salt from Regina’s collarbone, breathed heavily into the quiet curve of her shoulder, the decadence of her skin. She pulled back just enough to see Regina’s flushed cheeks, pink and ravishing, the wet brownstone of her eyes -- Emma smiled at her, knew it was goofy and it only got goofier when Regina kissed her with a small grin, shook her head.

“Feeling better?” Emma asked, cocky as ever.

“I will once you let me down,” Regina rasped, voice rough with forceful use.

Emma moved her thumb, almost imperceptibly but Regina felt it against her nerves like a shotgun, jolted uncontrollably and Emma chuckled, quirked an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Regina unhooked her knee from Emma’s hip, pushed her but without malice, and the fingers still curved inside her dragged free with a maddening friction. It broke Regina’s tongue, words clattered against her gritted teeth and her forehead fell on Emma’s chest, warm and sturdy, the low laughter of her, the faint scent of cologne and heady leather - and cinnamon, always cinnamon.

Emma wrapped long arms around her, Regina’s skin like silk, chin on her head - the height advantage of still having her boots on, all of her clothes while Regina stood there in her bra and panties and yet still managed to look more stylish and put together than Emma ever would. Regina seemed smaller like this, yet more substantial at the same time. There was power in her body, more strength than should have fit in such a diminutive frame.

“I’m ready,” Emma murmured against dark, perfectly dishevelled hair.

“For what?” Regina asked, lulled and languid against Emma’s collar, arms loose in the small of her back.

_To give you my heart..._

But Emma said, “To learn how to do this thing. To pull out my heart and stop Gold and then maybe – I dunno…” Emma leant back in their circle of limbs. Her voice was tentative and uncertain, but that hopeful tilt to her chin was back, the one she would deny ever having. “Just put all this behind us and… see what happens next.”

When Regina smiled, it was the sun; bright and warm and it filled Emma with a helium buoyancy.

“Sounds good,” Regina acquiesced regally, then kissed her with everything she actually wanted to say. There would be time enough to say it, Regina knew that now. She took Emma’s hand, long fingers woven into hers and stared at the contrast of their skin. Emma stroked her knuckles thoughtlessly while Regina led her back to the bed.

Regina said, carefully, “You know that I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“With Gold?” Emma’s brow furrowed. Perched on the edge of the mattress, she watched grudgingly as Regina gathered up her clothes. “I know you probably could but I don’t—”

“Not just with Gold,” Regina interrupted, and frowned at the now-lack of buttons her white shirt possessed. “Honestly, Emma,” she huffed.

The blonde shrugged, grin irascible.

Regina pulled the shirt on; her palm crackled with magic and the fabric stitched low between her breasts.  _I am going to need a more fortified wardrobe._  “I meant, with everything.”

Clueless as to what Regina referred, and more than a little distracted by the supple movement of her hips as she pulled on her pants, Emma waited, reposed and askew on the comforter.

Regina sank down beside her, one last thing that needed to be said before the battle against Gold resumed in earnest. Regina crossed her legs and her body protested pleasantly, still slick and sensitive after what they had just done. “I am more than capable of taking care of my own heart,” she murmured.

The scowl that crossed the blonde’s face was expected. Regina reached for her hand, entwined their fingers and brought them to her lips. Her own scent lingered there, tantalising and suggestive.

“What are you saying?” Emma’s voice was cold, hard.

“Nothing bad,” Regina soothed. “Emma, when I gave you my heart…” Regina shifted carefully, waited until she was sure Emma understood what she meant – not the incident downstairs, but much earlier, and Emma swallowed heavily. “I did that because it was something I  _wanted_  to do. I wanted you to have it - but I never needed you to take care of it for me. I am more than capable of taking care of myself. I have done that for many years – well enough to know that I don’t need anyone else to be responsible for my wellbeing.”

Emma retreated - the succinctness of Regina’s voice, the cool sheen of her eyes unsettled her. But Regina held on tighter to her hand and would not let go.

“As for my happiness…” The dam broke then, feeling flooded Regina’s eyes and welled in her throat. “I have become very aware that is not something I will ever find on my own. I found it with Henry, and now…” Regina trailed off, but someone had to say it eventually, so she did. “And now with you. And if that frightens you I understand, but you have to tell me because if you run later, Emma; if you run--”

Regina ran out of words, her lungs a raw mess of discomfort, of churned honesty and she waited breathlessly for what Emma would say, wary and damaged… Until Emma leant in, and the gravitational pull of her lips captured Regina’s worried mouth in the briefest of kisses.

“Hey, I promised you a Happy Ending,” Emma grinned crookedly, a glint in her eye. “If I can supply that directly, well… it’ll make things easier.”

Regina snorted, rolled her eyes but the overwhelming sense of relief nearly drowned her. “I doubt anything between us will ever be easy, Miss Swan.”

Emma shrugged a shoulder and a dimple showed in her cheek, eyes timidly hopeful. “Maybe. But maybe, I dunno… Worth it?”

Regina said nothing just kissed her again, and hoped Emma didn’t feel the traitorous dampness to her cheek because Regina would never live that down. Fingers tight, Regina pushed their hands to Emma’s ribcage, to the place that pulsed with life - pulled back just enough and murmured, “Now - smooth and easy...”

Emma never took her eyes from dark-coffee brown, simply trusted Regina’s guiding hand and pushed in with her fingers. In the end, it wasn’t painful so much as uncomfortable, less nauseating than it was a little weird - just a grasp and a tug and then Emma's heart was gone, pulled like a childhood tooth.

It sat stolidly in Emma’s palm, tepid and strange and she handed it off as soon as she could. Regina held it reverently, with infinite care and though she mostly kept it from her face, Emma suddenly felt the cavern of her chest a little less hollowly than she had a moment ago.

“It’s brighter than I thought,” Emma said. “Kind of… shiny?”

Wry amusement curved Regina’s lip. “Yes, well – you shouldn’t judge a heart from mine.” A shadow settled briefly in. “Mine was tainted a long time ago.”

Emma reached out but Regina stepped away, simply shoved her hand into her own chest and pulled out the offending lump of tissue. A heart in each hand, one starkly darker than the other, Regina steeled her shoulders, sharpened her spine, braced herself for what lay ahead. “Are you ready?”

Emma shoved her hands in her pockets, grinned ferally. “Hell yeah - Gold is going down.”

Regina nodded curtly, waited as Emma opened the door for her. Emma followed Regina down the hall, eyes fixated as always on the sway of Regina’s hips, on the perfectly rounded shape of her ass. Emma grinned to herself.

 _My heart might be gone_ , _but it’ll take a helluva lot more to stop me loving that._

They had a big fight ahead of them. Everything was dire. But this made sense.

Emma enjoyed the view all the way down the stairs.

*****


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Emma was by no means a public person, but Regina could be fiercely guarded, resolutely private, and Emma wondered how long before a less-than-casual touch or accidentally revealing comment slipped through, and what would happen then?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Additional trigger warnings:** Emma will very briefly and broadly mention a less than happy childhood - nothing graphic or unexpected, no added tags, just a heads-up.
> 
>  **Housekeeping:** It's come to my attention that Regina's Merc is probably a 4-speed auto. You may not care, but I am a stickler for details (see also: big nerd), so I've changed a previous chapter thing and re-worked this one to reflect that. It made me sad because gear changes are lovely (and often metaphorical) things, but hey - thems the breaks, kid.
> 
> Thanks as always for your overwhelming support and kudos, and please enjoy.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_19\. [ Tighter… ]_ **

Henry jogged over as Regina and Emma re-entered the Main Hall – a respectable distance from each other, all business between them, Regina’s jacket buttoned to her throat.

It was easier for Emma to act this way without her heart. As she became less-successful at hiding her feelings from herself, the chances grew that someone else would see this thing that developed between them. While Emma was by no means a public person, Regina could be fiercely guarded, resolutely private, and Emma wondered how long before a less-than-casual touch or accidentally revealing comment slipped through and what would happen then?

_Can we do this? Could we even have a future?_

Marian and Elsa were manageable, but Henry and Emma’s mother, and the gossip-hungry residents of Storybrooke were another beast entirely.

“Moms! Did you do it?”

Regina grinned, held up the things in her palms, their tell-tale glow and she returned Henry’s hug as best she could with full hands.

“That didn’t take long,” Mary Margaret commented.

 _It felt like a lifetime._ Emma shrugged. “I’m getting pretty good at this magic thing.”

Her mother looked proud though fleetingly worried. Emma tilted her head -- but then Henry was around her waist and she kissed his hair, and tried to transmit a depth of feeling that was no longer necessarily there. Despite Regina’s warning, it shook Emma a little.

“We didn’t have much time,” Regina said tightly. “As much as I despise clichés, it’s quite probable Gold’s magic for this spell will be most potent after midnight.”

“It’s the Witching Hour,” Henry proffered, and Regina nodded curtly, though something about the term clearly irked her.

Mary Margaret checked her watch. “I hadn’t realised it’d gotten so late. David must be frantic. Can you call him when you get out of here?”

“Sure,” Emma acceded. “What should I say – _‘She’s trapped in a cursed mansion so don’t wait up?’_ ”

“Emma!” Her mother bristled. “Tell him…” She sighed. “Just tell him I’m fine and he should stay with Neal. But if he can find a sitter, he should help you two take down Gold.”

“Moms please, let me come,” Henry pleaded, one last time. “I wanna go, I wanna do this with you – just take my heart. Maybe I can talk to Gold. He likes me. He’s my grandfather.”

“Henry… You know we can’t do that.” Regina leant down, a soft smile on rueful lips. “Emma and I – we will always protect your heart. And for that to happen, we need it to stay right where it is, in your chest. You need to stay here, safe, with your… Mary Margaret.”

Henry scowled.

Regina’s jaw brooked no argument, but she raised the things she held in her hands and they tattooed her face with pink light and swirled shadows. “We need you to do something far more important for us now.” Cautiously, Regina offered him the glowing lumps of muscle. “Do you think you could protect these? Could you keep them safe for us until we get back?”

An almost-whispered, “Of course...” Henry took the hearts from her carefully, handled them with deference. A wide smile overtook his serious mouth. “Always.”

Regina cupped his chin, thumbed his cheek and stepped back. “We should go,” she directed at Emma, barely able to tear her eyes away from her son. _My precious boy; such a fine young man._

Emma subjected herself to her mother’s fierce hug, to her worried chatter and warnings – _‘Take care of yourself, please’_ \-- but again the affection felt muted, far away. Emma’s unease grew. It felt strange to live like this again, at a distance. She didn’t like it.

“Are you ready?” Regina waited by the opened door.

Emma steeled her jaw. “Let’s do it.”

Regina pushed through Gold’s crimson net without incident; Emma paused just long enough for her mother’s shrilled, “Please be careful!” -- and then they were both on the other side.

*

Regina refused, in no uncertain terms, to set foot in Emma’s yellow “death-trap” -- something Emma took personally until the minute she settled into the Merc’s spacious, comfortable leather passenger seat.

“Do _not_ put your feet on that dashboard.”

Emma stopped mid-raise; slid her boots back to the floor. “What, I’m gonna ruin the re-sale value?”

Regina’s glare corroded just as well peripherally as it did head-on. Emma smirked to herself, sprawled out in the chair. Ordinarily she preferred to drive, but for once she was happy enough to let someone else take the wheel. Regina manoeuvred the car with two hands gripped in the perfect position, eyes always on the road, only occasionally flicked to the rear-view mirror, precise and measured because of course she did.

“Got a radio in this thing?”

“Yeees...” Regina gestured with her chin, but Emma made no move to touch the dial.

The forest was dark now, eerily quiet but for the occasional chirrup of crickets and the rumbled hum of tyres on asphalt. It lulled Emma to the edge of sleep, something she had sorely missed over the past few days.

On the teetered verge of oblivion, Emma reached out; placed her weary hand on Regina’s leg just above the bent knee – Regina’s muscle clenched, then relaxed. Eyes closed, Emma sensed the smile Regina turned on her but let her keep it hidden. Emma drifted off for a while.

*

A violent bump jolted Emma awake. She jerked upright, flurried fists, ready to fight her attacker.

“Hey – it’s ok…”                

Disoriented, Emma swiped the corner of her mouth in case of drool, wondered what Regina’s voice was doing here on this side of a dream. As the road and trees outside the windshield slipped towards her, Emma remembered where she was and why they were here. Her pupils retracted to a non-threatened pinpoint.

“Remind me to talk to your mother when we get back about basic highway maintenance,” Regina went on dryly, soothingly. “She wanted to be Mayor, she gets to deal with the potholes.”

Emma cleared her sleep-filled throat. “I don’t think Mayor was really her choice.”

“Yes, well – it comes with the curse.”

Emma’s defence of Mary Margaret was perfunctory, but the fact that Regina had glossed over her startle response meant something to her. Emma woke like this a lot. Lovers had fled for much less.

Despite her empty ribcage, Emma felt a sudden need to be anchored to Regina, even though she was only inches away. She reached for her leg again - this time Regina’s thigh muscle stayed limber, almost welcomed her. The brunette’s hand ghosted Emma’s fingers and returned to the wheel.

“Have you figured out where we’re going yet?” Emma asked; realised surprised that they hadn’t really talked about it before they got into the car, she’d just sort of… trusted Regina would find their way.

“I’m taking us back into town. If Gold sent us to the most northern point of Storybrooke, it makes sense he’d be in the opposite direction.”

Emma couldn’t fault that logic. She stared into the diffused beams of headlights, the contorted figures they painted, spasmodic dancing shadows.

“I never really felt much,” Emma said - then wondered why she’d said it, how she could take it back. Her stomach fell through her body, through the cushioned seat, tumbled into the rear footwell. Beside her, Regina said nothing, eyes fixed on the road though clearly she’d heard. They both waited.

“Yeah that’s not really true.” Emma kept talking in spite of herself, despite every organ that screamed _No!_ \-- her one missing piece seemed to have disconnected her from her basest fears. “I think I felt – feel, a lot, I just… I learnt early on not to let it touch me, y’know? You feel nothing, it’s safe, there’s no way they can hurt you because you don’t give a shit.”

Emma shrugged. “Some of them tried I guess, the foster families – Ingrid…” She shifted uncomfortably against leather. “But most of them’re just in it for the paycheck -- You get free rein or a free boxing lesson.” Emma said it blithely, no grandeur, yet somehow her bruises shone. “I learned either way, I learnt - not how to feel. I know how not to let anyone get too close, not to let them-- I dunno. I survived. Things turned out ok.”

Emma slid down in her seat, set her boots against the dashboard and draped her arms over her knees. This time Regina made no move to stop her, frozen in the driver’s seat but for the mechanical movement of her hands around tight corners.

“Running’s pretty easy. I mean I can fight, but getting away is better and a lot less gets broken -- I guess it’s habit. I’ve done it enough. At the first sign of trouble, or when you feel it coming, that’s the best time, you just—” Emma slapped her palms together, one hand shot forward at the windshield, “—head for the horizon, just keep going ‘til it’s gone.”

Emma played with the zipper on her boot then, jiggled the pull tab wedged in its slider. “It was weird when Henry came and found me, that night - I was kinda settled and I had this six-month sub-lease and my job was winding down but it wasn’t gonna be hard to find something new, I mean - white-collar crime is big in Boston, so… I was looking for something, I guess. But I didn’t know what it was, I didn’t - I dunno. I didn’t want a kid. I didn’t want a town or a family or my parents, I didn’t want to be anyone’s hero, I just wanted…”

Emma stared out through the windshield, wondered why she kept talking, wondered why Regina hadn’t stopped her yet, wished someone would stop her. But the woods slithered by as the Merc skirred serpentine through them, and it was as good a place as any to leave her confessions.

“When I got here, all of that changed, everything -- Henry… that kid has teeth, and I don’t know if he gets the stubborn thing from me or you but probably both, and I just—I didn’t want to leave, not without him and I was just feeling all this _stuff_ , and you-- It wasn’t all good. But then the curse ends and my parents are here and I have this Savior thing and-- Suddenly there’s all these feelings and I can’t run away from them anymore, and I don’t _want_ to, I don’t--” Emma raked a vicious hand through her hair.

“I don’t know what I wanna do half the time, I dunno what I _should_ be doing... Sometimes I wake up, and I look at my badge and my cellphone and there’s a hundred messages because someone’s shitty neighbour is mowing too loud, or their cat’s in a tree and I think, _Fuck it – David’s got this_. _I wonder what’s happening in Ohio?_ \-- and fuck Ohio, nothing happens there, that’s not the point, the point is I’m feeling all this stuff and I just want—I want to not feel anything anymore. It’s just… easier that way.”

Finally Emma turned, angled her Z-shaped body at Regina and saw her candy-striped fingers, the twisted wire frame of dejection, the damp filigree on her cheeks in light refracted off bushes and mile markers.

“Except it’s not,” Emma said emphatically. “I was wrong. When I looked at Henry tonight, at my mom, at you and I didn’t have my heart -- it feels wrong. I can’t feel any of it right now, not properly and I don’t like it. I don’t want to feel like that anymore. I don’t want to _not_ feel.”

The car slowed - Regina’s body shook too much to keep compulsive pressure on the accelerator. The Merc’s engine roared through gears, whined, shuddered to a halt; stalled because Regina’s arm refused to shift it into neutral and the beast had grown touchy in its vintage. Dead in the water, Regina’s forehead sank onto the steering wheel. There was a long silence, interrupted only by the _tick-tick-ticking_ of the heated engine against a chilly night.

“Regina?”

Regina raised a stiff hand between them to ward Emma off, curtained hair dissuaded against leather-bound steel.

Regina had always been tempestuous. It was as if her feelings were bigger than anyone else’s, consumed and overwhelmed her, made it difficult not to react in tumultuous ways.

Without her heart, it was… quieter. She had been heartless more times than most people - certainly Emma; and far longer than anyone she knew of except her own mother. Over the years, Regina grew accustomed to the reverberant echo, the persistent whisper of feelings that lingered when her chest was empty. She adapted like a superhero in one of Henry’s comics, developed a heightened sense of an emotion when the absence set in, learnt to accentuate the attenuated when it was necessary. She could function without a heart. Regina knew what she felt, understood very well the true depth behind a gossamer feeling.

When Emma spoke, everything came at her in a roar. It bellowed and wailed, moved her in ways her itinerant heart should never have allowed. Why Emma had chosen this moment to talk about these things Regina might never know, probably Emma would be unable to explain - something to do with the fact that she was disconnected from the terror of her own admissions. Or perhaps they had simply reached a point, tenuous and excoriated though it was, where these insights would begin to brim through the cracks in walls held too long around them.

“’Gina I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t be.” She raised her fettered head, forced back thick locks of obsidian hair, fingertips skimmed along her ropey vein with its kettle-drum pulse. “Emma, this is--”

“Yeah, it’s not really a great time to say-- anything.” Emma fidgeted with the hem of her jacket, downcast eyes a turbulent mess of regret and embarrassment, the wary suspicion she had revealed too much too quickly.

 _No, it always is. It is always the right time. Your truth is a language I want to learn._ Regina bent her knee onto warm leather, twisted beneath the wheel; she tucked kinked curls behind Emma’s ear, stroked the balled muscle of her clenched jaw with her knuckles and thumb. “Never stop telling me who you are, Emma. I want to know all of it.”

Emma’s eyes rose like a crested wave, churned over Regina’s expression; the curved bay of her lips, the shoreline of her teeth, her lighthouse smile. Relief welled and flooded, and Emma ran her fingers over the back of Regina’s hand pressed to her cheek. Emma grinned, shrugged the heaviness of the moment from her shoulder. “Hey - only if you promise to trade me for some of your dark, sad secrets. I can’t be the only one making a fool of myself here.”

There was a jocular tilt to Regina’s quirked eyebrow, the self-mocking crook of her mouth. “A Queen is _never_ foolish,” she proclaimed haughtily. “A noble-born woman is always poised and _fascinating_.”

Emma snorted indelicately, drawled, “Of course _your Majesty_ \- how could I’ve not know that?”

Regina handed her a gentle smile, accepted Emma’s soft one in return; hooked her body back beneath the steering wheel. Regina’s hands clutched tightly, and she paused as she reached for the keys. Out through the darkened windshield, she said, “One day I’ll tell you everything, Emma, and you might wish I hadn’t.”

“You’ll probably think the same about me.” Emma shook it off. “… I guess we’ll find out.”

Regina started the car. As the engine rumbled back to life, something ignited in her chest too; it roared and cheered, a sybaritic carousal of delight, euphoric succour, the unmentioned parade of that old traitor hope.

Emma’s hand slipped back onto her thigh. Regina held it for a while, even through the tightest turns.

*****

 

**_20\. [ … This time ]_ **

Emma hadn’t realised she’d fallen asleep again until she re-surfaced, bleary-eyed, into the shadowy heart of town. The Merc had stopped, parked though only recently, interior still warm from the last gusts of a surprisingly efficient heater. She felt Regina’s eyes on her, was watched as she fully reclaimed her consciousness.

“You’re very beautiful when you sleep.”

Emma scoffed awkwardly, lips pursed in disbelief. “Oh yeah? You’re into girls who snore?”

“You don’t snore,” Regina disagreed. “Though you do mumble.”

“Nothing incriminating I hope?”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “Not that I could make out. Is that something I can look forward to?”

Emma made no comment, though the prospect of nights spent sleeping next to Regina, of waking in her arms was not at all lost on her. It raised the temperature of her body more than artificial coils ever could, some in her chest and, surprisingly, much lower. Emma had only ever found conversations about the future terrifying - she had no idea she could find them hot.

_What is she doing to me?_

“So – We’re going to Gold’s shop?”

Regina shook her head, pointed out through the corner of the windshield. “I noticed light coming from the Clock Tower.”

“Bit late for routine maintenance. …I should call David.”

“We don’t have time—”

“I know.” Emma swiped the screen, relieved when it showed a strong signal. Eight messages waited for her, all from her father in varyied states of unease. She tried to call him but there was no answer; left a voicemail to say Mary Margaret was fine and not to worry, but conspicuously left out that she and Regina were going to battle Gold. They were fine on their own. It was better this way.

A moment later they were out on the cold street, silent and deserted, all of Storybrooke’s residents in bed for what Emma guessed was a fear of turning into pumpkins. Even the Rabbit Hole shut down for the hour around midnight.

“What’s the plan?” Emma whispered, billowed breath caught by a streetlight.

“Stop Gold,” Regina replied simply, stiffly, her stride awkward as she tried not to sound her spiked heels. “By whatever means necessary.”

“We can’t kill him. The Dark One’s powers—”

“I know,” Regina agreed. “We’ll have to take the dagger. He’s powerless without it.”

Emma nodded, eased open the door to Storybrooke’s Public Library. They made their way through the stacks and up the stairs to the second floor. Regina followed Emma closely, fingers occasionally in the small of her back as though to reassure them both she was really there, that they were doing this together.

At the cage to the tiny hand-crank elevator that would take them into the Clock Tower, Emma paused; they heard voices -- Gold and, not-surprisingly, Hook.

_“When the stars on the hat align with those in the sky, we shall begin.”_

_“You mean I shall end. Let’s not start mincing our words now.”_

Emma slowly, carefully slid sideways the barred door, and the voices grew louder down the short shaft over the whirred click of gears.

“Oh, how brave. I half-expected you to crumble at the precipice of your demise.”

“I’m not the one who’s a coward.”

Emma almost snorted at that, rolled her eyes -- _If Hook survives, maybe I’ll punch him again like a victory lap._ Regina’s hand twisted in Emma’s leather jacket and pushed her inside the cubicle.

_“Well, then, you’ll enjoy watching this coward crush your heart.”_

Emma rushed the hand crank - despite her internal animosity, she couldn’t truly bring herself to let Gold kill Hook. At the top, Emma swung under the brass cage, skidded to a halt on the mezzanine floor, frozen, as Gold waved his hand on the platform above.

Machinery clanked, creaked while the domed roof of the Clock Tower opened in leafed sections, a diaphragmatic shutter to the sky. It revealed a shallow-crescent moon.

“Didn’t know it could do that,” Emma muttered.

Regina’s fingers tightened around her bicep, and she whispered, “Neither did I.”

Emma nodded at the silvered light glinted off the dagger in Gold’s hand, and Regina echoed the move silently, acquiesced to a plan they hadn’t actually formed just instinctively knew they would execute together.

Regina moved into the shadows, hands cupped; summoned the first spark of a fireball. The platform Gold and Hook stood on could be reached on either side by factory-wrought sets of iron stairs and landings. The clock’s massive brass gears masked the sound as Emma stepped up to the closest stair base. Hands on the bannisters, she called: “Hey Gold – whatcha got there?”

He looked down on her through the grated floor, momentarily surprised, irritated, just a hint of fear quickly eclipsed by a cold smile. “Emma Swan. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight -- How did you escape the mansion?”

“Sparkling personality.” Emma lifted herself onto the second step, and Gold raised the hand that held Hook’s heart, fingers curled claw-like around it. The pirate hissed, bent in pain.

“That’s close enough, please. I can’t afford to have the Savior interfering with my plans.”

“Then you’re gonna need a better bargaining chip than Cap’n Crunch there.” Emma stepped higher. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms right now.”

Gold increased his pressure. Hook cried out, fell to one knee. “Swan, please!” Emma paused; Hook spat at Gold: “You need my heart, Crocodile. Don’t waste it now!”

“Yes, well… That is entirely up to Miss Swan.” Gold looked down on her again. “My plans have nothing to do with you, Emma, or your family, or the people of this town. I wish only to leave here with my wife, to live peacefully while I show her this land.”

“I know all about your plans Gold, and if you think I’m gonna let you loose in this world with your twisted brand of magic, you haven’t been paying a lot of attention over the years. You said it yourself – I’m the Savior.”

“Actually, in that manner, your role has been fulfilled.” Gold’s eyes were stone now, mouth cruel, tone impatient. “You are no longer the Savior, Emma Swan, any more than your parents remain royalty or Anton is still a giant. The best course of action for everyone, would be for you to relax gracefully into retirement and leave the heroics for battles you can win. Investigating graffiti perhaps, or issuing parking infringements.”

Beneath her skin, Emma bristled; externally she remained nonchalant. “Oh yeah? If I’m not the Savior anymore, how come I can still do this?” Emma shot a pointed bolt of magic at him. Gold swatted it easily, but she gained two more stairs.

Alone, Emma knew she was no match for the Dark One -- but then, Emma wasn’t alone. Regina had her back. Regina always had her back. “How ‘bout you just let Hook go, hand over that dagger and we can all go for cocoa at Granny’s?”

Gold smiled crookedly, tooth glinted in the moonlight. “My days of playing happy families with you are over.”

Emma leapt to one side as Gold waved his arm - she expected a fireball, an electric shock of magic not the paralysing wave that followed -- it struck Emma inanimate against the bannister.

It was at that point Regina flew forward, enraged, a wild fury of vengeance. She unleashed a firestorm of power against Gold and it slammed into his undefended side, threw him across the platform, billowed out frenetically and raised him into the air, a panicked kicking of his shoes.

Emma tore velcroed from the atomically-frozen state she was in, heaved a breath and her head spun from the momentary cessation of everything, including life. Yet she managed to stumble onto the first iron-gridded landing of the staircase before Gold wriggled free of Regina’s substantial attack and thumped down heavily on his feet.

“It’s nice to see you’re still following in Emma’s wake,” Gold creaked -- attention glutted as always by Regina Mills, the beauty and potential of her. She was so alike, yet so very different from her mother in so many ways. “You might finally have found it, Regina. Emma Swan could be your most exquisite downfall.”

Regina was sickened by the perfect name defiled in Gold’s foetid mouth. “I only followed Swan here because your evil is greater than our indifference,” she snarled, and readied a fireball in her twitched hands. “Do not think you know _anything_ about me.”

Regina pulled back and loosed her mounted fire, but it was the bolt Regina held in reserve that scathed his skin. It electrocuted him, shot waves of pain through his skinny body. The Dark One returned fire then, teeth gritted and bared; Regina batted the shot away with a sultry laugh.

“You’ll have to do better than that, you insipid troll,” she mocked, grin sanguine. Her peripheral vision caught Emma as the blonde lunged down on strong thighs, cracked her knuckles and prepared her palms. Regina taunted Gold gleefully: “An escape hatch for a person without a heart? Rumpel – you’re losing your touch.”

“An unfortunate side-effect of sending a pawn to do the things I had no time for,” Gold excused. Magic sparked and popped along his arms, coalesced between his fingers. He admitted, “While I knew you would decipher it eventually – I had hoped Emma would be caught for much longer.”

Regina shrugged. “She’s _incredibly_ stubborn.”

“Yeah - have you met me?” White shocks of lightning poured from Emma’s hands, squealed as they cut the air, knocked Gold back into Hook. Both men sprawled onto the metal platform, and the pirate did his best to impede the Crocodile as Emma inched forward, her tumbled tide of power joined by the arc and crackle of Regina’s reddened fire.

Hook screamed raggedly; rolled away, hands clutched to his chest as Gold crushed his heart with one palm, tossed magic wildly with the other. Emma sprang and rolled instinctively, but through the iron bars she saw Regina’s body twisted and flung, twirled brutally away. Regina’s shoulder and head hit the brick wall with a sickening thud.

“REGINA!”

Gold’s power was on Emma before she had decided exactly what to do -- lover or Dagger? Emma was lifted into the air, all flailed limbs and useless struggle. “Put me down, you piece of shit!”

“Oh I will,” Gold agreed, his voice acidic through a thin-lipped smile. He moved just a finger and Emma slid over the bannister, floated into the open air. It wasn’t a long way, but it was far enough that being belly-down, she would break her wrists on landing.

Gold looked up through the open roof, recognised the pattern there as almost complete. Emma fought against his invisible grip and he watched her for a moment. “How does it feel to be without your heart, Emma Swan?” he asked almost conversationally.

Emma struggled, gave in, dangled. It wasn’t over, but she needed a second to come up with a plan. “It’s ok, I guess. I wouldn’t choose it as a long-term thing, but…” She shrugged, an awkward movement in her strangely prone position.

“That’s not the heart I meant...” Gold stared pointedly down at Regina, at her stilled body on the stone floor. “Another love for you to care about, another life you have to protect – you must be getting tired of it by now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emma snapped.

“Don’t bother trying that with me, Miss Swan,” he intoned, almost bored. “There is a lot about you that I cannot see, given your status in life. There is a lot that the Author ensured was hidden from my view. But True Love—that is a force visible to anyone. It glows brighter than anything else in existence.”

“Yeah, well – you need your eyes checked.”

Gold’s brow splintered. “You really can’t see it...”  For a moment he seemed genuinely surprised. “So much of what you have is wasted on you.”

Emma muttered, “Not the first time I’ve been told that…” Her worried eye fixed on Regina’s unconscious form picked up the smallest fluttered movement of dark eyelashes. Emma bit her lip against a traitorous smile. “Pretty sure it won’t be the last.”

“True Love isn’t always obvious,” Gold said absently, almost to himself. “Sometimes, it takes time to be revealed. Certain circumstances need to occur, events have to happen before it works its power.” Liquidity distorted Gold’s face, the softness that came only when he spoke of his wife; or once, his son. “Without the Dagger, with nothing to control me, I will be my own person; Belle and I can—”

“Wait - you think this spell is gonna give you True Love?” Emma snorted, relieved to be distracted from Gold’s allusions about her and Regina, but mostly just pissed. “Y’know Regina’s always telling me I know crap about the laws of magic, but even I’m pretty sure that’s crazy.”

“That is not what I’m saying, Miss Swan,” Gold replied tersely. “Nothing can _give_ you True Love -- But I do believe this is the way to find my Happy Ending. And a part of that ending, will be Belle and I, finally able to access the True Love that exists between us.”

Emma nodded, slowly and surely, for an extended period of time. Then she turned. “Yeah, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

On the ground, Regina had enough sense and foresight not to move around too much. Gold glanced up at the opened dome, nodded to himself. “It’s time.” He turned away from Emma, and she plummeted down.

Below her, Regina rolled onto her side – one hand outflung, she pooled magic around Emma, buffered her frame just inches from the floor. The blonde still landed heavily, but parts of Regina’s body cushioned the blow, magic caught others and though they both fought for knocked breath, it was not as dire or nearly as painful as it could’ve been.

A hair’s breadth from Regina’s face, Emma grinned lopsidedly, and the rom-com nature of it - her knee caught between Regina’s thighs, lips alienable beneath her – made Regina roll her eyes. She pushed Emma away, because this was reality and there was no time for crescendoed kisses when a fight raged on. Emma stood and yanked Regina to her feet.

Up on the platform, Hook’s heart pulsed brightly in Gold’s hand. The Dark One waved his Dagger over a small, circular gilded container and then set the blade carefully aside. A diaphanous hat rose constellate; inside a peaked universe, galaxies of power, the star-dusted magic of captured fairies. As Gold held out his hand, the hat floated up into the air, ascended to the open dome -- Exploded into the fabric of space above them.  

Emma murmured, “That’s not good...”

Energy boomed-- Light streamed down on him, the kind that battled darkness on a molecular level, the kind that warred with it on a plane far broader and more timeless than this one. Regina threw a panicked fireball, but the atmospheric presence of the spell burnt it up like a meteor and the beam barely faltered.

Emma hurtled herself up the stairs again, boots thumped and rang heavily on the iron grates, Regina close behind. “Gold, stop!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he intoned. “I’ve waited too long for this. And I’m too close.” Gold thoughtlessly waved his arm; on the landing beneath, Emma and Regina froze mid-flurry -- Olympic statuary, energetically-posed marble.

The light beam disappeared, its part in the process completed.

Hook cowered pleasingly before him, and Gold commented blandly: “Well, maybe not everything has went to plan. But this next part...” He extended the lump of muscle that glowed in his tremulous palm. “…I’m really going to enjoy.”

A tightened fist; Gold’s savage mouth twisted in satisfaction – Hook fell back onto gridded iron, rocked and keened, body curled, foetal. His agonised cries were overwhelmed by pain as his heart fissured in Gold’s hand… But it never broke, never turned to dust as either man expected.

Gold tried again, more force this time - still failed to make the final crushing blow. “I don’t understand. Why can’t I--”

“Because I commanded you not to.”

Gold whipped around, came face to face with his lovely wife. Belle had snuck up the secondary staircase behind him when they were all distracted fighting each other. Her pretty lips were contorted in anger, eyes welled and spilled over with pain. She held the Dark One’s Dagger high over her head. “Drop the heart.”

Rumple did so immediately, powerlessly; Hook caught it just before it hit the ground. On bent knees, the pirate clutched it to his chest, head bent as if in a prayer.

“Now release everyone,” Belle commanded brokenly, every part of her fractured.  

Rumple waved his hand silently, unable to speak even if he had the words. On the small landing below, Emma and Regina tripped, stumbled, propelled forward by momentum stored in their frozen muscles. Regina gasped for breath, and Emma wrapped an arm around her waist without thinking, held her tightly.

Overhead, galaxies sucked back into the vortex -- they streamed down, collapsed in on themselves until the spell dispersed in a flash of light and the gilded container rested inertly on a wooden box once again.

“The mansion,” Regina wheezed.

Emma nodded, squeezed her; to Belle, expounded: “Gold trapped us in that mansion in the woods. Henry and Mary Margaret - we couldn’t get them out.”

Belle’s soft face was undermined by bitterness, collapsed into disbelief and sorrow. “You trapped your own family in the middle of nowhere?” she accused Gold, incredulous. “Your own grandson? How _could you_?”

Rumpel opened his mouth but again no sound came out.

“Let them go!”

Gold waved an elegant hand in the air, slumped, cowed.

Belle shook her affronted head. The lettering on the hilt of the Dagger bit painfully in her grip. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Emma, to Regina; eyes downcast, face hidden. “I thought… I trusted…” Belle looked up, cheeks flooded with grief. “Please tell Henry I’m sorry I didn’t believe him.”

Belle fixed Rumple with a rough-cut diamond gaze, cold and hard and jagged. “And now? Now you can take us to the town line, because we need to be alone for what comes next.”

Reluctantly, Gold flourished his hand. In a tainted, swirled cloud of dark crimson, he and Belle disappeared.

*

In the wake of narrowly-averted disaster, Emma shifted nervously. Pent-up energy pulsed through her bones. She held tighter to Regina, asked: “Are you ok?”

Regina nodded, pressed into Emma’s lean body but stepped away because they were not alone, and nothing felt over yet.

“A little help, if I could...” Hook struggled to his feet on the balcony above them, heart still clutched in his weary palm.

Emma searched Regina’s face a little longer, squeezed her hand before she made her way up the last stairs to the pirate. “I should leave you like this, you piece of crap.”

“I never meant for any of this to happen, Emma.”

Emma took his heart a little too roughly, held it a little too firmly, shoved it back between his ribs just a little too hard. He _oomphed_ , breath battered from his lungs at her curved knuckles, and he fell to one knee.

Emma covered her chest with crossed arms -- after the odd, unprompted rant from Gold about True Love, Emma had a lot of suspicions. “What the hell did you say to Gold?”

“About what?” Hook watched the muscle in Emma’s jaw worked raggedly over gritted teeth. He smiled at her, false bravado. “Do you mean about you and _Regina_? Your… friendship, is it?”

Emma shifted uncomfortably, eyes hard and narrowed.

“I told him nothing he couldn’t figure out on his own.” Hook grinned darkly. “Nothing that everyone in this town won’t know soon enough.”

“Is that a threat?” Emma snarled.

Hook shook his head. “Oh it won’t come from me, love. I’m hardly one to run around telling people my lady left me for the Evil Queen. It doesn’t exactly reflect kindly on my skills -- Which are, of course, _considerable_.”

Emma believed that much, if only because she knew his ego. “I don’t wanna see you again Killian - not for a long time. I’m gonna punch you and that’s not a good look for the Sheriff.”

A huffed chuckle, Hook raised his head. “Storybrooke is not a very big town, Swan. It’s not an easy place to get lost.”

She shrugged. “Get fucked then. Go live in the forest with Hood I don’t care, just stay out of my way.”

The pirate got to his feet, stared at her for a long time. “I never meant for any of this to happen,” he repeated quietly.

Emma stared past him, until he turned on his heel and made his way to the iron stairs - pushed pointedly past Regina as he descended. The clank of the elevator was barely audible above the continually whirred movement of the clock’s gears.

Emma scooped up the now-benign box that contained Gold’s weird hat, and made her way back to Regina on the lowest landing. “What do we do with this thing? Should we go out to the town line to help Belle?”

Regina shook her head to both questions. “Whatever that box is, it needs to be locked in my vault until we know more about it. Belle… could probably use the time alone.”

Emma nodded - since the spell to cleave himself of the Dagger had failed, Gold was only as dangerous as he ever was, which was manageable enough even for Belle, and frankly, a situation comfortingly normal for this town. Emma leant against the iron bars of the staircase while Regina called the elevator back for them. “So that’s it?”

“Perhaps…” Regina’s furrowed brow – things felt unfinished though she didn’t know why. There was still the matter of the missing fairies, the strange hat in Emma’s hands, whatever fate Belle had decided for Rumplestiltskin -- but it was more than that.

She and Emma had begun talking about a future, and while there was an ice wall and a Snow Queen, a curse and the Arendelle trio, a spell and Gold to deal with, all of that had seemed slightly nebulous. Now there was nothing left to chase or run from, nothing to fight or foil except whatever formed between them and Regina feared it might be their most difficult battle.

But beneath the fear, that parade had started again; a thousand pennants waved and boisterous laughter rolled through her chest. Regina stepped into Emma, the blonde’s lanky body bent haphazardly against the bannistered stairs, and slid her hands onto Emma’s hips. Her fingers brushed against the skin between the denim of Emma’s jeans and leather of her jacket.

Emma’s smile was warm, wide, her free hand wrapped around Regina’s waist as she leant into her, pulled her tighter against her body. “Hey…”

“ _Hey_.” Regina’s curved mouth slid forward slowly, slowly, a leaf on a warm breeze. When their lips finally met it was tentative, chaste; quickly grew into more – more tongue, more teeth, more sighs and soft moans as Regina’s fingers played adagio over the bars and bends of Emma’s belly and bones, fingertips slid across lace and cupped her breasts, the delicious weight of her in her palms again, finally.

Emma still needed her heart, they both did - but Emma’s body reacted perfectly without it, responded fervently to Regina’s touch, flushed and hot despite the emptiness in her chest, a hollowness that ached to be filled by Regina’s hands, the luxurious extravagance of her. Emma moaned onto Regina’s tongue, fingers twisted in Regina’s hair, drew her closer, arched into her as Regina’s thumbs traced the hard outline of her nipples through her bra.

And then, muddled and distant, a barked “What the hell?” -- and Regina was gone, wrenched and flung away and Emma stumbled forward into the absence of her.

Emma blinked, disoriented, unable to quite understand the scene that unfolded in front her, still lust addled, pupils wide.

“Get your goddamn hands off my daughter!”

*****


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Emma's father with his sword raised - Regina opposed, hands filled with crackled fire. The first shot would change everything."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos and comments fuel me. 
> 
> ... As do spring thunderstorms, early Christmas lights and big buckets of coffee, hence this chapter arriving sooner than usual. Angst and fluff ahoy, my friends. I hope you enjoy both.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_21\. [ Everything I am ]_ **

The world shrank, the Clock Tower faded away; blood rushed through Emma’s ears, hummed and buzzed louder than mechanical creaking, louder than thunderous words -- Her father with his sword raised; Regina opposed, her hands filled with crackled fire.

The first shot would change everything.

Emma rushed in, yanked Regina behind her; arms outstretched, she warded off regret in the wake of a bloodbath. “David, what the hell are you doing?”

“What am _I_ doing? I’m saving you!” he shouted. “She was… attacking you.”

A skyward eyebrow, Emma’s stiff mouth ghosted by the grimmest humour. “That is not what attacking looks like.”

David hesitated, searched for clarity in his daughter’s face; looked past her to Regina Mills, her arms folded, a guarded sternness to her. His grip on his sword quavered. “That wasn’t her attacking you?”

“Sometimes I worry about you and mom,” Emma mumbled.

A compulsive snort behind her - Regina had the good grace to quickly bite her lip against it.

David trailed off into silence, face twisted from confusion into realisation, on into panicked understanding, embarrassed horror. He cleared his throat deliberately, struggled to get his sword back into its scabbard. “I really don’t want to know this, Emma.”

“I really agree.” Emma’s gaze dropped to the floor, to her scuffed boot, to anywhere but her father’s face - the stern line of his chiselled jaw, the uncomfortable dismay in cornflower-blue eyes. _I’m not ready yet, Regina’s not ready, we-- It isn’t time for this. We need a break, a breath, just a goddamn minute of Us._

“I am _not_ telling your mother.”

Emma was relieved until she realised the job would be hers. It seemed unlikely David would let her keep this a secret for long, even though he couldn’t possibly understand what he had seen. Maybe she’d be lucky and a dragon would eat them at the library doors. “I don’t—”

“Where’s your mother?” David interrupted, worried, in need of a distraction.

Emma rubbed the back of her neck against the whiplash change. “Did you get my message? They’re at the old mansion. Mary Margaret and Henry – they’re safe,” she added quickly, “but we couldn’t get them out in time.”

“In time for what? _Out_ of what? What are they doing out there? Why are you here? What happened tonight?”

“That is many long stories.” Emma shoved her hands in her pockets, encouraged her father towards the elevator; shot a backwards glance at Regina who trailed stiffly behind, visibly unhappy, shaken. _This is going to be a long… always_. Emma wanted to take Regina’s hand, to tell her everything would be fine, that they would be fine, they’d get through this -- but she didn’t know if that was the truth and anyway, Regina avoided her touch, her eyes, any sort of proximity to her.

Out through the library and into the street, Emma briefly outlined things David had missed during the day. To her disappointment, there was no dragon waiting there for her, no wraith or troll, nothing but the cold night air and a deathly quiet street. _The one time I actually want a monster to come at me in this town and nothing…_

Her father clambered into the back seat of Regina’s car, no choice since Mary Margaret had taken his pick-up and the only police cruisers they had were still locked away after the curse. On the long, winding journey back through the forest, Emma fed him every excruciating, benign detail of the night’s events, drew out the tale of the mansion’s trap and the fight with Gold as much as possible to avoid talking about anything that really mattered.

David seemed overly willing to help her, asked inane questions, filled the tension that rolled thickly from Regina with mindless chatter and updates on his night with baby Neal – her brother was with Granny, and he had ended up at the Clock Tower after multiple calls from people who had seen strange lights in the windows, and magic poured out through the open roof.

Emma had never used so many words to describe anything before, particularly for so much nothingness. Her conversations with her father had always been easy, light, characterised by sparseness because it was all they needed, even when they talked about important things like a past spent without each other. This was different, strange, strained. Avoidance, this uneasy truce would not last. Emma tried not to think about what would come next.

It was the longest car ride of her life.

*

David called his wife on the way to let her know they were coming, a signal finally available with the dissolution of Gold’s spell, and when they pulled in Mary Margaret and Henry were rugged up in the front seat of David’s truck. Mary Margaret threw open her door and ran to David, hugged him as though years had passed and he lifted her up, twirled her in his arms.

Henry scrunched his nose when his grandparents kissed, sidestepped the grossness into his mothers’ arms – first Emma, then Regina. He was held tightly, though carefully so as not to jostle the hearts he still guarded, and if he noticed the way Regina distanced herself from Emma, he didn’t mention it.

Mary Margaret waited her turn, pulled Emma into her arms and squeezed her, relieved. “You did it! Honey, I knew you could.”

Emma chuckled, stepped back as soon as she was able. “Pretty sure that wasn’t what you were thinking.”

A small frown from her mother, quickly dismissed. “I’m always worried when you go off and fight, Emma - that doesn’t mean I don’t think you can do it. How did you end up stopping Gold?”

“We didn’t.” Emma shrugged. “I mean, we tried, we fought him pretty well – but Belle got the Dagger in the end and it was pretty much over. She took them out to the Town Line.”

“For what?” Mary Margaret’s voice tensed, eyes wide. “Is she ok? Should we go there? What about Gold?”

Emma shrugged again. She had no answers, and frankly her mind was elsewhere.

David stepped up, a fleeting frown at Emma. “We’ll check on Belle as soon we can,” he assured his wife, soothed her shoulders with his steady hands. “If anyone can handle Rumpelstiltskin, it’s Belle – but she’ll probably need some friends when she’s done.”

The smaller woman nodded, slipped her hand into his. “Then we should probably get those hearts back where they belong...” She looked at her daughter – Emma was withdrawn, distracted; and then to Regina – stiff and, if Mary Margaret didn’t know her better, somewhat terrified. “Is there a problem? Regina?”

The coldness Regina kept for such occasions slipped into place and she cleared her throat. “Of course not. The process is simple. But it can be quite a shock the first time - it’s probably best if Emma and I do this alone.” She caught Charming’s suspicious glare, his clenched jaw, almost dared him to say something.

Emma stepped into their sightline, spoke with her arms outstretched, a rodeo clown between two rampant bulls. “Looks like we have a plan! Everything is fine.”

It was not. Nothing would be fine until Emma talked to Regina, to her mother, to David – _oh god, to Henry_ \-- and maybe not even then -- _How do we do this? Why did I quit running?_ But then, Emma knew the answer. All of her reasons were here, staring at her like she’d lost her mind.

“Moms!” Henry’s excitement burst through the tension. “I found something! Before you go or whatever, I think you’re gonna want to see it.”

Never so relieved for his presence, Emma ruffled his hair. “Sure kid, what is it?”

“I have to show you,” Henry insisted. He thrust a heart at Emma and she fumbled, caught it wildly; her leather sleeve already tugged by his hands back towards the mansion. Regina’s blackened muscle still cradled to his chest, Henry puffed, “It’s inside.”

“Whoa kid, slow down...” He wouldn’t - Emma left her parents with a helpless look. They waved her off and she stumbled to keep up with her son as he led her through the door, through the Main Hall and out into a small corridor. Regina’s heels rang loudly behind them.

“After you guys left, there wasn’t much to do so I started to look around and I found something…”

Up a set of stairs, feet soon muffled by a wool-runnered floor, Henry stopped at a dead-end, nothing remarkable about the point, nothing that warranted his triumphant smile – until he reached up and pulled on a bland-looking wall sconce. From behind a framed watercolour sketch sounded the smooth-tempoed clack of machinery. The plaster split, the wall swung around to reveal the entrance to a hidden room.

“Whoa - how’d you figure that out?”

“It’s a pretty dumb place to end a hall,” Henry threw over his shoulder as he went in.

Emma glared pointedly at Regina, a clear ‘ _He gets this from you’._ Regina merely sniffed and followed their son.

_Nature versus nurture my ass…_

Emma and Regina entered through different sides of the wall into an extravagant, sumptuous room lined to the ceiling with bookshelves.

“A library…” Regina breathed.

“Not just any library,” Henry grinned, his biggest discovery yet to be revealed. “Look.” He crossed to a shelf and pulled out a very familiar leather-bound tome, held it up with his heart-free hand for Regina’s inspection.

Incredulity touched Emma’s mouth and brow as she approached. “That looks like your book.”

“Only it’s blank,” Henry finished. “They all are.”

Regina took it from his hands, flipped through the pages to confirm for herself but there wasn’t a scrap of colour or text anywhere; crisp, white, empty.

Henry lead, “And if this place is full of potential Storybooks...”

Regina slammed shut the cover, joined him victorious with a slowly spreading smile. “--Then maybe this is the Author’s house!” She shook her head, pride a beaming curve of her mouth, the thick pulse on her forehead. “Henry… You did it!” Regina threw her arm around his shoulders, hugged him tightly, his chin tucked against her neck.

Emma tongued her lip, watched the embrace with longing -- She wanted in, but knew Regina wasn’t ready right now and besides, Emma didn’t get what they were so happy about. “Did what? Hey, is this the thing? That… Operation Mother Goose?”

Henry rolled his eyes, stepped back from Regina. “It’s _Mongoose_.”

“Whatever.” Emma shrugged flippantly, one thumb tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. “It’s a thing I’ve been left out of is what it is.”

Regina kept her eyes on Henry, used the moment to stay removed from Emma even as she addressed her. “Yes, well -- we were looking for the Author. I was hoping…” She seemed nervous, uncomfortable, more than mildly embarrassed, “—He could write me a happier story.”

Something rattled the bars of Emma’s empty ribcage. She could’ve sworn her heart flickered a little redder in her palm but that was crazy. Emma wanted to say something, reach out but Regina refused to look at her still, and Emma’s words were rarely good enough to breach a distance.

“Mom, it’s more than that,” Henry chided. “You should tell Emma everything.”

Regina’s head shook almost imperceptibly, shoulder shrugged; a feigned misunderstanding, wilful ignorance. Henry narrowed his eyes, adolescent ire on the brink of something larger.

Henry turned to Emma, fixed her with a gaze that itched her spine. “Operation Mongoose – it’s bigger than Happy Endings. It’s about changing who she is. My mom wants to change, Emma; she just… She doesn’t know how yet. She needs someone like the Author or whatever to tell her she doesn’t have to be the villain anymore, because that’s not who she is.”

Regina’s soft tone, the wary discipline: “Henry…”

“No, Mom -- It’s who you _were_ , but you’re not anymore.” Henry’s attention oscillated between them, the point of an acute triangle. “People who stop being Villains should get Happy Endings. My Mom deserves that, Ma. She should get to have True Love because it’s part of a Happy Ending and she deserves a Happy Ending because… Because she’s my Mom. And she’s a hero now.”

When he looked at Regina, her eyes were two dark rocks at the bottom of a lake; it spilled over under the volume of his conviction, displaced the brittleness on her cheeks.

“I know you want that, Mom. I know you think you don’t deserve a Happy Ending and you can’t have True Love but it’s not true! I love you and I know you love me but that’s not enough. You need someone who’s just for you, someone we can be a family with -- I know there’s someone out there who will love you like that, you just have to believe it.”

_Someone already might, kid..._

Emma shook it off, squeezed his shoulder -- Regina had that look on her face that said _Henry_ in a thousand different ways, some needy and some desperate, begged him to stop -- but Emma leant against him in solidarity, cheek pressed to his hair. “Yeah kid, you’re right. Your mom deserves that -- And I’m in.”

“Operation Mongoose? Awesome!”

Emma raised her chin for Henry to look up at her, smiled quickly but her eyes never left Regina - the ire, the fear, that glint of hope quelled by an averted gaze and lifted, regal jaw. Reading Regina had become easier, but understanding what lay behind the emotions left Emma as blank as the pages of the Author’s new book.

Emma was determined though. She said she was in and she meant it, more than Henry could know but not more than Regina should. The woman had to realise by now that she was stuck with Emma. They may both be heartless right now, but neither of them were brainless and it was clear they came together far more often than they tore apart.

Maybe one day they could learn to stop fighting it, and something fucking amazing would happen. Emma was almost ready for that. _Almost._

“Regina…” Emma said her name carefully, strictly, and waited until the brunette finally deigned to look at her.

A haughty arch to Regina’s brow - but there was nothing impersonal about her wet-chestnut eyes or the breath she held because it shook in her lungs, and Emma was glad again for the absence of her heart, it made it easier for her to keep hold of Henry and not lurch forward, not say too much for this time and place.

“Regina, I made you a promise I intend to keep. Everyone deserves their Happy Ending and you… Henry’s right. The things you’ve done, trying to fix whatever it was that happened in the past, means you deserve a Happy Ending more than just about anyone in this town. Hell, I’d give it to you right now if I could.”

Regina reared back -- tried to school her face to impassivity when she realised only she could see the shimmer in Emma’s eye, the sweet, suggestive curl of her lip. Regina cleared her throat, muscle worked impulsively across her jaw. “That’s very kind of you, Emma. But it won’t—”

“You’re gonna get your Happy Ending Regina, whether you like it or not. I’m in.”

Emma stood back and crossed her arms. The squared set of her shoulders brooked no argument -- when Henry did the same, mirrored Emma’s pose perfectly Regina thought she might die – of laughter or heartbreak she wasn’t sure, but hysteria rose in her throat either way. She had been defeated.

_For now._

Regina bowed her head, accepted it almost graciously, smiled lovingly at her son. “Very well, Henry – Operation Mongoose continues. Emma can join us in an adjunct capacity.”

“Yeah thanks – I think.” Emma smirked down at her son, nudged him with her shoulder. “We make a good team, kid.”

“Operation: Get Mom.”

“If the two of you continue to gang-up on me like this, I will separate you,” Regina warned coolly.

Emma scoffed, Henry snickered - none of them put any stock in the threat. They had all moved beyond the possibility of separation long ago, so entwined in each other’s lives they could not function if they were too far apart. This was Henry’s family. This was a Swan-Mills family.

“Henry – do you think Emma and I could have some time alone? We need—”

“Yeah, yeah-- You should probably take this.” Henry offered Regina her heart, held like a cherished thing he was finally ready to pass over.

“Thank you…” Regina put her hand over the glowing organ, pulled Henry in by the arm until he was tight against her. She hugged him with everything she had inside her, everything still outside that he had always protected, loved him and everything he was.

“Mom, it’s ok - I get it. You’re being weird again.”

Regina chuckled into his hair and released him. The hug he gave Emma was brief and casual, and then he waved at them both and he was gone.

*

Emma watched Regina’s turned back for a long time. She fidgeted, scratched her arm, wondered if the brunette would ever turn and face her again. Regina was easily capable of waiting out anyone’s presence, Emma knew, but this time she wasn’t going anywhere. “So are we gonna talk about this now, or do you wanna do the heart thing and skip it for later?”

“And risk the idiot Charmings bursting in if we take too long?” Regina scoffed, crossed her arms over her chest but never turned. “Hardly. Once the shock wears off, I don’t think David would let me live through another round of ‘Hands off my daughter’.”

“Lucky for you then, it’s nobody’s goddamn business who puts what on my anything.”

Regina fell back into silence and Emma sighed. She placed her heart down on a red, felt-protected tabletop and tucked her thumbs into her back pockets. “Regina, I’m sorry that happened and I wasn’t really ready for it either, but-- Is it so bad if people find out? I mean, they’ll know eventually right? Unless, you don’t want to…” Emma trailed off, mouth dried by the words, by the thought that Regina never intended to stay despite what she had implied.

Emma felt no devastation, just an uncomfortable ache and some loss, and it was in that moment she realised that if Regina left her now, she would have to walk away from her heart and never look back. This scratch in her chest was about all she could handle.

“I’m not ready for people to know,” Regina said quietly. “But it has nothing to do with my wanting to be with you, Emma. While ever that’s what you want, that’s what I want too.”

A rush of something – Emma fuller than she had been. They hadn’t really talked about this yet, not in so many words but Emma knew now that she wanted to. At some point, she needed to.

“But I don’t think that choice will remain in my hands for long,” Regina finished, her fingers clenched white-knuckled around her heart.

Emma took a few steps towards Regina’s back and stood there, wished she would look at her. “This isn’t a decision I can make on my own, Regina. If we want to be together then we want to be together, it’s not just up to me - and you can’t put it all on me, that’s not how this works.”

“I know very well how a relationship works, Emma,” Regina said icily. “But we are up against far more than just you and I.”

Emma shrugged her shoulders to her ears. “My parents mean well; I know David makes up for lost time in stupid ways—”

Regina whipped around, faced her in a flurry of twisted features and errant tears. “ _Lost time_? You think this has _anything_ to do with your missing teenage years? Emma-- Your parents won’t be reacting to you bringing home the neighbourhood miscreant, or some bad boy with a hook and leather pants – I _hunted_ your mother and father for years. I attempted to kill Snow White more times than I even remember, but I am certain she hasn’t forgotten any one of my attempts -- Your father definitely hasn’t. Nor should he.”

Regina’s body shivered and heaved, an anguish that swelled in the empty vessel she had become. “And that doesn’t begin to cover the things I’ve done to the people of this town. Even before the curse – most of them were threatened by me, imprisoned, tortured by myself or my guards… They know _exactly_ who I am, who I was and they’ll never believe I can be anyone other than the Evil Queen. Perhaps they’re right to believe that.”

Emma opened her mouth to argue but Regina stopped her, the thicket of condemnation around her made it impossible for anyone else to speak. Regina fought for every last volume of oxygen, forced it back out through her steampipe throat. “There are good reasons for them to believe I cannot change, Emma. I have proven them right time and time again, proved correct every hint of suspicion. Much about me is dark and wrong. There are things I have done that are irredeemable.”

“We’ve been through this Regina.” Emma was storm-eyed, a seething cloud. “I don’t give a shit about that. Your past—”

“—Is not the past for them, Emma! It is as fresh as the last curse, and the things I’ve done since are hardly enough to make up for decades of fear and hatred.” Regina was a ragged tear in the damaged space between them. Her chest stung each time she clenched her fist too hard. “You might not believe that it matters now, but when they find out about this; when they start talking about me, when they start talking about me in relation to you it will be to warn you, to question who you are and what you _think_ you are doing.”

“Yeah well, they can all go to hell.”

Regina laughed then, strangled and bitter. “They won’t. You’re their Savior, Emma - their _hero_. They will believe you’re under a spell, they will believe this is a curse I have cast and they will do anything, _anything_ to snap you out of it. They will tell you things--” Regina’s throat constricted, a deluge of fear trapped in her oesophagus and she nearly choked but she forced herself on. “You, and Henry, will hear stories about me that will make it impossible for you to see me as anything other than what I was -- which is a _monster_.”

“That is bullshit, Regina!” It burst from Emma’s throat, pummelled and pulverised, a blunted instrument of frustration. “Nothing is going to change my opinion of you, and Henry would _never_ believe that and if anyone, _anyone_ tries to convince him otherwise I will rip their fucking tongues out.”

Emma pushed into Regina’s personal space, again when Regina stepped back, Emma leant into her, offered her no respite. “I don’t like people talking about me either, and I know it really gets to you because you value your privacy and that sucks because it’s gonna happen anyway. People are gonna talk. This is a small town and they gossip all the time and we are not exactly unknown around here -- So you’re gonna have to take it. We will protect Henry as much as possible, but me—I’m a big girl, Regina. It’s not the first time someone’s questioned my choices and it sure as hell won’t be the last but they are _my_ choices. No one else has a say in that.”

Regina waited, silenced but not cowed, until she was sure Emma had finished. A smile so small it was barely there, so broken that it hurt, Regina reached out with her free hand and held Emma’s tensed bicep through her jacket. “You can’t know that,” she said quietly, simply. “You can’t know what they will say, or that it won’t change things, and you can’t know how it will affect Henry. And I don’t think either of us has the right to put him through that.”

Regina dropped Emma’s arm; backed away, a clack of finality from her heels on the floor and Emma, frozen, could not stop her. The blonde’s shoulders crumpled, her body fell in on itself and she felt so much smaller than she really was. Regina started towards the short hall beyond the Library’s secret door.

“So that’s it then? You’re not even gonna put back our hearts?”

An exhaled puff of disbelief at Emma’s question, at her ongoing, strange resistance -- _I could not bear it. Feeling this would kill me._ “I have no intention of returning my heart right now, Emma,” Regina said over her shoulder. “It would be… dangerous. I’m going to put it somewhere for safe keeping - I would suggest you do the same.”

With that, Regina left, and Emma reeled in the quiet space without her.

Emma crossed stiltedly to the table where she had left her heart, thought about shoving it behind a bookshelf and pretending it was never there but she knew it was not a luxury she had. Regina might be able to fake her feelings enough to get by, but Emma couldn’t do that, not to Henry or her parents, not to herself. If this was how it was going to be, Emma was going to feel every last brutal second of it, and the sooner the better because then she could move on or high-tail out or do whatever it was she needed to do to make things not feel this way anymore.

_But dammit - I’m in._

Emma wasn’t done. She’d made a promise to Henry. Emma said she was in and there was no getting around that. This was why she always ran first, to avoid situations exactly like this but it was too late for that now. She’d made a promise and that was it. She was in, and even though it felt like what she was in right now was shit creek without a paddle, it didn’t change that.

_I’m in._

Plus there was more, something more going on with Regina, more to this than she’d said and fucked if Emma would let it end this way.

_I’m in._

Emma picked up her heart, steeled herself and shoved it back into her chest, through gristle and bone until it thunked into place, and she managed to get her hand out again before that first breathless throb.

Both palms flat on the desk to prop herself up, Emma shook slightly, nauseated – and then it all came flooding back. Twenty-nine years of feeling; every ounce of pain and rejection, fear and abandonment; of love and warmth, protection and family all culminating in this last week, this last few hours of indescribable _everything_.

Emma lost her balance, lost her grip on the tabletop and on gravity; collapsed onto the floor where she shook and heaved and cried for a million different reasons until it all became too much. Overwhelmed, overwrought, her body gave in, started to close down. Darkness seeped through the edges of her vision, spots flickered and swelled behind her eyelids and everything slipped away.

Emma was out.

*****


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Emma sipped again, considered her options. “I wouldn’t say ‘letting her’ -- I was a pretty willing participant.”"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an extra long one, peeps. But I think you're really going to appreciate that when it comes to the next chapter ;)
> 
> PS: Every time I quit writing, you guys keep sending me kudos and comments and I get this second wind; or third, or forth and it starts all over again. Thank you so much, I can't tell you how much it means to me. It certainly keeps me going.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_22\. [ Everything I… ]_ **

_‘_ _Emma…?’ ‘EMMA…?’_

She was shaken roughly, no care for the fact that she was exactly where she wanted to be. It was quiet here, dark; a great ocean of water above her and she on the rocks below, stone and sand yielded to her exhausted body. The cold numbed her, bobbing eased the weight from her spine, viscosity slowed the frenzied barrelling of her onerous heart.

_Shhhhhhh…_

         _Sleeping._

It wasn’t exactly true – it was more that Emma held hands loosely with consciousness, they were children in line for a classroom forced into closeness because it was neat and tidy, and authority appreciated controllability.

_‘EMMA!’_

Emma didn’t like to be controlled. She capitulated to no one. She was never good at school.

_Shhhhhhhhhhh…_

_No one here but us_

_f i s h e s._

Her body was shaken again, cradled against a stiff torso: “Emma, you need to come back now, ok? Your mom and I are worried. I just need to see your eyes, ok?”

Emma re-surfaced, gasped for breath. Glints of emeraldine fluttered through thick lashes and David held her tighter, scooped his arm around her neck to support her weak head, his chin crushed against her hair. Emma tried to shuck him away, tried to raise herself up from his crumpled lap but she didn’t quite have the strength yet. She was weak like aquatic kittens. And so very muddled.

“Dad? What…” Emma groaned, lolled her head in annoyance, tried to distance herself from him again. She rolled onto her side, got a quarter of the way over and he pulled her back like a beached whale. “No dun do that.”

“Emma, stop.”

“You stop, I’m swimmin’ here.”

Charming looked down on her like she’d lost her mind, and rightly so. Emma grumbled, an exasperated teenager but gave in to his good sense. She was in no state for making decisions right now, or for moving, or to operate heavy machinery so instead she lay there, very still, nearly even relaxed when his gentle fingers stroked her hair.

“Hey, how’d I get down here?”

“I thought maybe you could tell me that…”

Emma considered it heavily, troughs of concentration patterned her brow. “Dunno. Fell I guess. How’d you get down here?”

“Well - I was worried about you, mostly.”

“Oh.” Emma nodded, and although it was a simple statement, a perfunctory platitude, she began to cry - altogether heartfelt; freely, with silently hiccupped sobs. “That’s really nice...”

David watched Emma alarmed, uncertain what to do, unsure of what to make of his usually recalcitrant daughter. This was a reaction her mother should deal with, if anyone knew how to deal with it at all. Yet David was sensitive, the frangible twin and he found himself wet-eyed and angry, held his grown child closer even though he knew she would ultimately pull away.

“Did she hurt you Emma? Regina said you’d need some time to get yourself together, but when you didn’t come out… We were worried. You mother sent me to find you-- Did she hurt you? Did Regina do this to you – did she do something to you? What did she do? I will kill her--”

“Noooo,” Emma whimpered, whined. She reached up and caught the base of her mouth, forced her lip into line - the question had sobered her and it was time the rest of her caught up. “I did this. I did it; I put my heart--” _Into her. Into me. Into everything I shouldn’t have and everywhere I could_. Emma didn’t say it, had finally gotten hold of her wanton tongue under the curt reign of a re-instated heart. “She told me not to. She told me to wait—I didn’t want to. And I don’t wanna talk about it. About Regina - not yet. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Emma…” David drew out her name, as bothered now by her withdrawal as he had been by her sudden upheaval. At the centre of it all was rage, silent rage at the woman who had spent decades causing all of this. “We have to talk about her eventually.”

“Maybe… Not now but later, maybe…” _Maybe when I know what’s going on, maybe when I know what I want, what she wants—Maybe when I’m not so tied up in knots that I can’t breathe, or think, or know which is my foot and which is my hand and how the hell do I stand on either one, Dad?..._ But all Emma repeated was her non-committal, “Maybe. Later.”

The moment had passed. The thing that allowed David to cradle Emma’s head when he and Mary Margaret hugged her, the thing that made them parents and not just people in their daughter’s life, of an approximate age who happened to be inextricably linked to her - that moment had moved on as painfully as it always did, left David unable to reconcile his needs with his role in Emma’s life.

He swallowed down Emma’s distance with a stolid jaw, stood and helped her to her feet. Together they made their way back through the secret wall, back through the mansion’s main hall and out through the front door, to where his wife and Emma’s son waited impatiently for them.

David was grateful that at least Emma never shrugged away from him, each time he walked too close beside her.

*

The minute Emma saw her mother, she burst into tears again, and when Henry moved to hug her, Emma howled.

“Emma! What’s wrong?” Mary Margaret was frantic, high-pitched, eyes suddenly full of her own crying and she tried to pull Emma into her arms but her daughter put up a stiff hand between them and pushed her away.

“Oh god I don’t know!” Emma sobbed. “There’s something wrong with my face, it keeps leaking.”

“You’re crying, Mom.”

“Shut up, Henry!” she snapped.

A flash of hurt confusion marred her son’s features and Emma cried impossibly harder, reached for him and clutched him unwillingly to her chest. “I’m so sorry! Henry, I didn’t mean that. Oh god I’m awful – Henry, can you forgive me? Please? Please just forgive me!”

Henry pushed her away, looked at Emma like she was the Queen of Crazytown. “Geez, Mom - I forgive you, ok? You didn’t do anything. You’re being _weird_.”

Emma heaved a shuddered breath, hands on her knees; she hung her head and behind a long curtain of blonde hair she fought herself back under control. It didn’t take long, this was an oil slick of emotions, choked and filmy but only on the surface. “Ugh – this is awful,” Emma muttered. “How do people do this all the time?”

“Do what?” her mother asked, sniffled into David’s chest.

“ _Feel_ things like this, just—” Emma waved her hand wildly over her face and sternum, “—everywhere, all over, all the time…”

“You get used to it,” Mary Margaret hiccupped, voice muffled in the circle of Charming’s arms. He nodded sagely, patted his wife’s back in soothing circles.

“Yeah, I don’t plan on that.” Emma put her hand lightly on Henry’s shoulder; he shrank away slightly, eyed her as if she were contagious. “Sorry kid – Regina was right, I should’ve waited to put my heart back in. This is pretty gross.”

Henry grinned, finally leant into her and shook his head. “Nah, just weird. I’ll get used to it.”

“Don’t. I’m pretty sure it’s already wearing off.”

“That’s good too,” he admitted.

Emma squeezed his shoulder one last time and let him go. “So -- how do we feel about getting the hell out of here? Place has kept us long enough, and I could do with about 400 years of sleep.”

They all agreed, eager to get away from this accursed mansion. Nothing good had ever happened here.

_Except everything Regina, the good and the bad, all of it._

One hand on the pick-up’s open door, one boot in the footwell, Emma turned back and stared at the old building, stately and quiet, unlit windows hid their secrets. She looked over to the empty space of Regina’s missing Merc.

The crying Emma would get under control, mostly had - but the crevice of loss excavated itself deeper, became a ravine, a chasm, a crater. She didn’t know what to do about it - the only person who could fill the ringing emptiness was Regina, and though Regina had said she wanted to be with Emma, her actions didn’t back that up.

“Are you coming?” Henry’s concerned face peered out at her, upside down, body stretched across the bench seat.

Emma shook from her reverie and smiled down at him. “As soon as you move your head, kid.”

Henry sat up and Emma climbed in beside him. David pulled the truck out onto the forest road.

*

Emma slept brokenly.

Henry was curled in beside her, had insisted on staying with her in her room and she didn’t have the energy or the inclination to argue. The minute her head hit the pillow Emma was gone.

She was still fully clothed except for her boots, which her son had removed after the first time she kicked him -- it wasn’t the last; she was a shifting sleeper at the best of times and this was far from that.

Each time Emma reached REM state, her argument with Regina came vividly to life, intertwined with the confusion of dreams. Sometimes Regina was the Evil Queen, Emma strung up to a wall; sometimes they argued with Emma’s hand in Regina’s chest as she tore out the still-beating organ -- sometimes Regina said nothing at all about leaving, simply wrapped Emma in her arms and kissed her. Those times were the worst.

After yet another round of ‘ _How can my mind completely destroy my heart this time?’_ bingo, Emma gave up on sleep, turned her back on the comfort of her bed as callously as it had turned its back on her. She moved quietly around the bedroom so as not to wake Henry, gathered some things and made her way to the bathroom.

Her shower was brief, utilitarian, brought back too many memories of her last time in Regina’s house; the spicy-rich scent of Regina’s body wash and the casual heat in her gaze, and Emma was madder at herself when she stepped out of the water than when she’d gotten in. _For fuck’s sake this is ridiculous. I can’t just stop showering. I mean I could, but people are gonna complain…_

Emma roughly pulled on clothes, fresh for a new day – they’d gotten in so late that she’d only slept a few hours but already the first dim light of dawn had crept past, and now brighter shafts of sunlight forced their way in at the edges of the apartment’s heavy curtains.

Earlier it had been agreed that today would be lazy. Mary Margaret made plans to see Belle late in the afternoon, after a text which informed them, ‘ _Rumpel is gone_.’ Henry begged to be let sleep in until lunchtime, a request instantly granted because Emma had planned to do the same.

And yet here Emma was, tucked up at the kitchen counter, one hand wrapped idly around a cooling coffee mug, damp hair that insisted on drying in kinked waves, dressed in tight black jeans and bare feet and an old grey singlet with a hole that showed her bra. Emma had run out of fucks to give. She wondered if she’d ever find more.

The quiet pad of heavy feet on the stairs behind her warned Emma her father approached. She sipped from her mug – the coffee was black, tepid and unsugared, none of which she enjoyed. Emma sipped again blankly.

“I thought I heard you down here.”

Her brow furrowed over her mug: “Sorry.”

“That wasn’t a complaint,” David said gently.

Emma had paced the kitchen for a long time after the kettle had boiled. Even with her bare feet, the wood-and-slate floors could be unforgiving in the loft-style apartment. They at least had their own rooms now, with actual doors, but the open-air design still had its drawbacks. Some more awkward than others.

“Your mother wants tea.” David peered into her cup. “That looks awful. Latte?”

Emma nodded, and he prepped the machine she had been unwilling to start, never quite figured out how to use. Their silence was comfortable, comforting, interspersed with the grind and drone of better coffee being made. Emma hoped it would last.

It did not.

“We need to talk about Regina.”

“Too early David.”

He ignored the cold cut-off in Emma’s tone. “It’s never too early for a conversation with your father.”

_Then it’s seventeen years too late._

Emma had taken care of her first date, first love, first consensually awkward fuck without any assistance from anyone. Every single heartbreak had been dealt with alone, handled long before her parents entered the picture. It had been excruciating to watch David attempt to play the part with Hook, the way they’d orchestrated that first date as though she’d never been on one before, or that she really even gave a shit. Regina wasn’t even her first female lover – though Emma had never considered using the word ‘girlfriend’ before, and her mind kept slipping there now, and that meant something, right?

_What is this? What are we? Can I fix this? Do I want to?_

Whatever -- the situation wasn’t something David could help with anyway. None of this was. And Emma suspected that wasn’t his intent.

Her latte apparently came with the concession that her father occupied the stool beside her, knees pressed under the heavy counter, fingers tented beneath his chin. Emma ignored him, blew and tasted, eyes slitted shut in pleasure as her morning suddenly improved -- It wasn’t Granny’s, but it was close.

“Emma… What was I looking at in the Clock Tower last night?”

 _Is this ‘I Spy’?_ “Dunno David -- Gears? Stairs? Elevator? Giant clock?”

He stared at the side of her face, unimpressed; forced his eyes back across the kitchen because he knew an averted gaze improved the probability Emma would speak to him.

“I thought Regina was attacking you last night. Which sounds stupid now - but only because it was crazy for me to think the truth. Which was…” He cleared his throat forcefully, “—That she was kissing you.”

Emma said nothing, drank her coffee. Her evasion went on until David was forced to continue. “And… you were letting her.”

Emma sipped again, considered her options. “I wouldn’t say ‘ _letting her’_ \-- I was a pretty willing participant.”

David stiffened in his seat. His hand moved to Mary Margaret’s tea cup, turned it in a circle by its rim. “Right. I thought you might say that.”

They fell into silence again. Emma swallowed more coffee, and the smooth creaminess rebelled in her stomach, calmed it at the same time. She hadn’t eaten enough recently. She yearned for bear claws and grilled cheese, a steak as big as Iowa.

“Is it serious?”

_Don’t ask me that, Dad. Don’t ask me anything about her, or what it means because I don’t have an answer for you. I can tell you what her skin tastes like, how her hands move when she's nervous, how she smirks when she thinks nobody is watching. I can tell you she made our kid into the sweetest fucking thing on this planet, taught him how to love even though love always fucking hurt her and she tries every single day to be better than she was before -- You don’t wanna hear that. You don’t wanna hear that she’s my goddamn hero. I hurt so fucking much right now, but I get it. I get her. I don’t get why she’s doing what she’s doing, but it’s not gonna stop me trying to figure it out. I fucking… I care about her._

Emma shrugged. “It’s not un-serious.”

David bowed his head. Emma drained her coffee, and waited for the caffeine to really kick in. She needed more energy if she was going to run from this place.

“I don’t have to tell you what Regina did to us in the Enchanted Forest...?”

He didn’t - Emma knew, at least most of it and yes sometimes in broad strokes, but David was aware she’d either guessed the rest or had it filled in by Henry’s Storybook, or by the more bitter and mouthy Storybrooke townsfolk.

There was more to tell, there was always more when it came to Regina Mills, but right now, in this context, wasn’t the best time to tell it. David saw his daughter was poised to run, sat right on the edge of her stool. “I’m not gonna say anything more about that, but I will talk about how this is going to affect your mother.”

Sunlight glimmered. It had seeped through the curtains, permeated the loungeroom and slunk into the kitchen like a contented cat, happy to rub against Emma’s lower back, to creep onto the counter and paw the crumbs from Henry's after-midnight snack. Emma fiddled her arms in the streaks, let it paint her tan.

“She’s not going to understand this, Emma. It will hurt her, a lot.”

Emma stood and took her empty mugs to the sink, ran water through them.

“Your mother loved Regina, for a long time. After her own mother died, Regina became everything to her. When Regina started coming after her – Snow never got over that. She understands it better now, but sometimes…” David looked down at his wife’s canary yellow cup, sipped her tea for his dry throat. “She still wakes in the night, Emma. She still calls out for her mother and father, for me; still begs for help when she thinks the Evil Queen has caught her.”

Emma collapsed down like an accordion, folded against the kitchen cabinets; head low, hands on her bent knees.

“She’s done a lot to get to the place where she is now with Regina, and I haven’t always agreed with her getting there…” David smiled to himself, small and internalised. “Actually I generally disagree pretty loudly about it. But I know she feels she has to do it, because whatever else happened – and a _lot_ of awful things happened, Emma… Your mother thinks that family always deserves a second chance. Or in Regina’s case, a fifteen-thousandth chance.”

Emma scraped her fingers through her unruly hair. It was almost dry and in dire need of a comb - that didn’t really matter now. Regina was right, the things Emma would be told did matter. And it would probably get worse; it had to get worse, her dad was taking it easy on her, he was like that.

This thing would be bigger than the two of them and Henry, because Regina Mills was bigger than her skin, more resonant than the boom of her mouth, greater than the presence which silenced a crowded room. She’d had an effect on this town, and that effect would be felt by all of them. Regina would be talked about, and a lot of what would be dredged up would be things she’d rather were left in the past.

But Emma was right too – it wouldn’t change the way she felt.

David watched Emma: The set of her jaw, the resignation that bordered on determination and knew it was something she’d gotten from him. That was bad news, and he loved her all the more for it. “I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?”

Emma stood slowly. Despite everything, her father was a good man, if not the best; the kind fairytales unfolded around for a reason. Emma crossed to the freestanding kitchen counter, leant over it as far as she could, weight on her elbows and forearms. Emma took his hand. “Dad… I don’t know what this thing with Regina is. Maybe I kinda did three days ago, maybe I will in a week but for now…” A tear dripped onto the countertop and Emma ignored it, hoped David would too. She rubbed her narrow thumb on his thick knuckles. “I’ll tell you guys if anything big happens. And I know it’s gonna hurt mom and I’m really sorry about that.”

Emma wanted to stop there, but words burbled into her mouth. “It’s just-- I can’t help it, I can’t. I don’t know what it is but it’s _something_ and I didn’t mean for that for happen, I didn’t-- I don’t think she can help it either, I dunno, maybe I’m wrong - maybe it’s nothing, Regina seems to be doing fine without--” Emma’s voice fled somewhere between a cough and a sob, that hidden place where emotion played out but not in front of anyone else.

David found it hard to breach the distance. Not because it was there, but because Emma and Mary Margaret and Regina all squared off in front of it and he didn’t really know where his loyalties lay. He knew his daughter was hurting. He knew his wife would hurt in the future and he knew that he would happily hurt Regina Mills in a heartbeat.

Eventually David gripped tightly to Emma’s fingers, raised himself off the stool and held her as much as he could, arms wrapped under her shoulders, body stretched over the kitchen counter. “We’ll wait then. But if you need any help, anything at all…” David stated it firmly, the implication being a soft shoulder or a sharp blade, “I _will_ be there. I will _always_ be there.”

Emma shook a little in his arms, partly from muscle-fatigue and partly because her eyes had started doing that thing again in earnest. She’d never needed a father, right up until that moment when she had one, and now she had very little idea how she’d ever gone without. Emma knew it was possible, but it was better having him.

When Emma finally pulled away from the hug, she scooped up Mary Margaret’s yellow teacup and wiped her face, and once the microwave was done with the tea, she handed it over; kissed her dad’s cheek and sent him back to bed.

A moment later, Emma headed upstairs herself. The birds were up, but she didn’t have to be. Some things were not genetic, and all Emma ever heard when sparrows started trilling was ‘ _Fuck this, it’s too early’_. Given several hours, maybe her linguistics would be better.

Emma doubted it, but welcomed sleep anyway.

*****

 

**_23\. [ … Can be ]_ **

Emma woke not knowing why, until two hazel-green eyes swirled into focus, stared down at her. “Henry? What the hell, kid?”

Henry scooted back on the bed. “Good, you’re awake.”

“Not by choice,” she muttered. Emma rolled onto her side and pulled a pillow over her head. “Not for long.”

“Ma, come on… It’s 10:30.”

“At night?” she asked, voice muffled.

Henry scratched his elbow. “…No.”

“No deal then.” Emma yanked the comforter up under the pillow and created a cocoon. “Go play in traffic.”

“This is Storybrooke, there’s isn’t any traffic.”

“Then go make some Henry, I’m sleeping.”

Henry hit the Emma-shaped lump on the bed with the cover of his comic book, a mischievous grin. “Are you telling me I’m allowed to go drive your car?”

A growled frustration. Emma threw back the blanket, rolled onto her spine, banged her head repeatedly against the pillow. “Dammit Henry – I just want five hours sleep all in a row, is that too much to ask?”

He sat back, legs crossed loosely on the bed. His thinned face was suddenly serious, all shadows in the filtered light beneath her blinds. “I want to talk about Mom.”

Emma stared blankly at the ceiling. _You too, Brutus?_

“Something’s wrong,” he said, muted panic. “I mean, _really_ wrong--”

“What? What’s wrong? Did you hear something?” In a second Emma had thrown off the sheets and thumped to her feet. Her heart pounded against the walls of her chest, “Is she—What happened? Is Regina ok?” Emma searched madly for boots, for a jacket - found both things piled on a chair in a corner.

“No! Ma, I mean—I don’t know, I haven’t heard from her. I meant something was wrong last night, when she left the mansion...”

“…Oh.” _Shit kid, way to give me a heart attack. I only just got that back._ “Henry…” Emma dropped her boots and jacket back onto the chair and made her way to him. She folded herself down on the bed, legs crossed to match his. “Regina and I—we just had an argument, that’s all. No biggie, just our usual bull-- stuff.”

“It felt like more than that.”

_Stop being so astute kid, or I’ll lock you in a tall tower somewhere._

“The fight,” Henry asked, “-- was it about me?”

“Argument,” Emma corrected automatically. “And no kid, it wasn’t.” She saw the reservation in his face, the accusation because it wasn’t quite the truth, so Emma hedged, “Not really, it was more… It was about me trying to help her, to be her friend. And I’m not very good at that and Regina’s not either.”

“So… it was about what I said about Operation Mongoose?”

“Henry, you’re mom-- A lot’s been going on for her over the past few days—months— _years_ , and I think it just kinda caught up with her.” Emma reached out and took Henry’s hand, smiled hopefully, reassured him. “But I’m really glad you invited me to join you guys. And I think Regina is too, she just needs a little time.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

Emma quirked an eyebrow, waited, sincerely interested to hear what her son thought because frankly, Emma didn’t have a goddamn idea what was going on with Regina.

When Regina got uncomfortable or scared, she lashed out, Emma knew that. She knew Regina didn’t like to be talked about, partly because she’d done some pretty shitty things in her life but mostly because people finding out her secrets hadn’t exactly gone well for Regina in the past. All of that Emma understood.

What Emma didn’t understand, was why now, just as everything had started to fall into place, Regina decided to stop, like whatever had happened between them wasn’t worth putting up with the scandal and a little gossip. And maybe Regina believed she was a Villain and didn’t deserve a Happy Ending, but she seemed to have this tiny flicker of hope that Emma could help her find one anyway, and the fact Regina had walked away from that now was just… _Fucked._

Henry tapped his comic book on the rumpled bed, pulled his hand from Emma’s and tucked it under his knee, uncomfortable. “She isn’t really used to being chosen.”

Emma’s brow creased, a tingle of profundity raced across her skin. “What?”

“No one’s ever really chosen her.” Henry’s eyes darted between the hypercolour cover of his comic book and Emma’s intent face. “Cora didn’t – Her own mom chose power instead of her. Even Rumpelstiltskin chose Zelena first -- I know Mom didn’t know that at the time, but I think she always knew he was just using her to get what he wanted. And Robin Hood was meant to be her True Love but he chose Marian.”

Carefully, Emma dissented: “I don’t think that’s really how it went, Henry.”

“Whatever happened, she still ended up alone!” He was desperate then, impassioned. “Even _I_ didn’t choose her - I chose you. I went to Boston to find you, I stopped living with her because of you, I chose _you_.”

“Henry…”

“No, I know everything’s getting better now – but that’s what I meant!” He leant towards her, bent double over his own knees. “You and me, Operation Mongoose – we _chose_ her. We chose _Regina_ , and I think… Mom doesn’t know what it feels like to be chosen. It’s never happened before so when we did it, when we chose her, I don’t think she knows what she supposed to do. I think it feels weird for her, and my mom doesn’t like feeling weird.”

 _There’s an understatement._ Emma shifted on the mattress, wiped her clammy palms on her black jeans.

Henry wasn’t done.

“Last night when Mom came out of the mansion, she was really upset and shaky but also, like - nothing touched her.” His eyes were faraway in the diffused light of the room. “I used to watch her all the time, back when I thought she was the Evil Queen and Mom does this thing when someone upsets her – not when it makes her angry, but when something _hurts_ her; and it doesn’t happen a lot because, well, she doesn’t really care about a lot of people.”

Henry shrugged a shoulder, though clearly it mattered more than he let on when he admitted, “It used to happen with me all the time. And then when you got here, it didn’t stop for ages. Mom just kinda-- shuts down? It’s like she’s here but she’s not, and she’s smiling and she does everything she usually does but she’s just… different. It’s like there’s someone talking for her or someone using her body, and she’s stuck behind it just... She doesn’t want anyone to know.”

Emma had tucked up her knees, arms wrapped fiercely around them – strange how much her son had grown up in the short time she’d known him.

“Last night…” Henry swallowed like he’d forgotten how dry his mouth was. “Last night we chose her, but I don’t think she believes it. Maybe she won’t let herself believe, I dunno – maybe she can’t. And now she’s doing that thing like she’s hurt but she’s not there. Maybe-- I don’t think she knows how to be there. I think she’s scared.”

As Henry spoke, his words crawled into the gaps of Emma’s spine. It elongated, her body an ellipse; she was the curved punctuation of his every sentence. She wondered where his inherent knowing came from. Emma was street-smart, she could tell a handshake from a blow in the way an elbow moved, and her superpower let her nearly always see a lie, but this was something else.

Henry saw Regina the way few other people ever had. Emma knew that was partly because Regina allowed it, would let her guard down with her son in a way she did for nearly no one else. But it was more than that -- Henry saw her this way because he wanted to. Because he took the time to really look at her, to see Regina the way she was, the way she could be and not the way everyone else saw her or the way she saw herself.

Emma had been looking at Regina for a long time. But she had only really started to _see_ her recently; maybe just during that moment in the woods when Regina held her, told Emma she couldn’t possibly be a monster and Emma had rewarded her compassion by sparking her tender body into a tree. And until just now, Emma hadn’t really gotten what it was she was seeing, because Regina wore her armour with Versace suits, withdrew when she was hurt and painted on a smile with garnet lipstick.

When it came down to it, Regina had never been chosen, always used; and under all that red-hot swagger and bravado, it seemed like she pretty much believed she was unworthy of anything good at all.

_Well, fuck...._

Emma’s breath caught, and she tried to hide it behind a bitten lip. She didn’t know what to do with the information, not yet. Emma at least understood the feeling of being overlooked, passed over, given away -- the rest she’d just have to figure out.

“Do you think she learnt that being Queen?”

Distracted, Emma asked, “Learnt what, kid?”

“How to not have feelings. Or… how to not let anyone else see them.”

_Don’t have to be royalty to learn that._

Emma shrugged, gave him a small smile. “Maybe. Or it could’ve been from Cora. That woman was—”

“A piece of work,” Henry finished for her, and Emma was glad because she was definitely going to use stronger fucking language this time.

Henry seemed to be waiting for something, and Emma realised she hadn’t really commented on his theories, consumed as she was by her own roared heart and a growing need to put boots to pavement; to track Regina down and hold her until the shaking stopped, to kiss her until the stupidity ended. Emma reached out and squeezed Henry’s shoulder, smiled with all the warmth and pride in her body. “I think you might be onto something there, kid.”

Henry sat up a little, pleased with himself.

Emma propped her chin in her hand, elbow on her knee. “So the question is, what do we do about it?”

He leant his newly lanky body back over the bed, rested on his splayed hands. “I don’t know. Keep telling her, I guess. Keep telling her we chose her and she deserves that, and maybe…” Henry hesitated, averted his eyes. When he looked at Emma again, it was sideways, awkward. “Maybe you could let her know you’re not going anywhere.”

Emma narrowed her eyes, brow corrugated, chin squished into her hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that-- You run away a lot. Like, from stuff.”

Emma chose to respond in an over-exaggerated fashion -- her mouth dropped open, insult and offense in wide green eyes. “How dare you! I’ve never run from anything in my life!”

Henry chuckled, his tension lowered but not dispersed. “Ma - you know what I mean...”

Emma smiled, small and rueful, lowered her head. She picked at the hem of her jeans tight above her ankle. “Henry… You know when I said ‘I’m in’ I really meant it, right?” She looked at him earnestly, needed to know he believed her, that he knew who she was, what a promise like that meant to her. “I don’t make promises if I can avoid them and I don’t promise things lightly, so if I say I’m in, then I’m in. I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna do what I said I’d do, and I’m gonna keep trying with everything I’ve got to make sure it gets done – You know that, right?”

“Of course I do,” Henry frowned. Then smiled, shook his head. “It’s not me I’m worried about – I know you’re not going anywhere without me, I knew that the minute you got to Storybrooke. But my mom… She only ever sees you run. When things get bad, it’s just what you do.”

Emma wanted to argue against it but the only examples she had around Regina were so recent and so very private, and nothing Henry was ready to hear; nothing she or Regina were ready to tell. Emma tried for something anyway. “That’s not true kid - Regina’s seen me stay for my parents and you, she knows—”

“You tried to take me away from here a few weeks ago, right after Zelena,” Henry accused. He stared at her with a stiff jaw, clearly still angry. “You were going to take me back to New York away from her, even though Mom’d done nothing wrong that time, even though she’d been working with you to help everyone. And I know you came back and said you wanted stay, but then you brought Marian back with you.”

“Henry…” Emma’s tone a soft warning, a hard plea. “Hey, your mom knows why I brought her back, that I had to and I didn’t know who she was -- Regina’s forgiven me for that.” Emma shrugged, surly. “I don’t see what Marian has to do with me running anyway.”

“You don’t have to mean it to hurt someone,” Henry replied darkly. “You don’t have to do it on purpose to still push someone away. You did a thing that had consequences Ma, and those consequences were that my Mom lost her Happy Ending. She ended up alone.”

_Dammit kid, you are more like Regina than you know…_

“Ok. I’ll… admit that,” Emma conceded reluctantly. “But I’m trying to make up for it, I promised your mom that I’d get her a Happy Ending and I’m gonna do that. What more do you want from me, Henry?”

“I want you to show her that you mean it!” He scratched the back of his head roughly, his too-long hair. “She has to know you’re not gonna stop trying the minute it gets too hard, because—Someone like my mom, it’s not gonna be easy for someone to love her, not at first. It takes time, they have to get to know her; they have to stop believing all the awful things people say about her and that’s not easy - _trust_ me.”

Emma chuckled. “Yeah kid, I know.”

“You have to tell her you’re not just in it for me - you’re in it for _her_. It’s the only way she’s gonna believe you.”

Henry was so sure, so passionate; it was like Emma could actually  see the True Believer in him. It made her want to gather him up and never let him go.

“Tell my mom you _really_ want to be friends,” he insisted. “Tell her you’re not just pretending because of me or using her to get something else because she’s never been chosen, right? So maybe… Maybe she doesn’t believe you because she doesn’t know you like I do. And she doesn’t know you’re not going to run away.”

_I didn’t either. But when you say it like that… I guess I am here for good._

Henry’s face had blurred in Emma’s vision, but she was no longer embarrassed by saltwater emotions. She loved her kid more than she knew what to do with, and the fact that he believed in her - it was still faintly terrifying, but it made it much easier for Emma to believe in herself.

She scooted up on her knees, leant across the distance and hugged him tight and close, intermittently rubbed his back until he finally pulled away from her and though she was reluctant, Emma let him go. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffed loudly; smiled with chagrin. “Sorry kid – that keeps on happening.”

Henry shrugged one shoulder, mischief played on his mouth. “Yeah – you are a girl.”

“Hey! Nothing wrong with being a girl, Henry,” Emma chided. “Girls rule the world.”

Her son rolled his eyes, but painfully coy, admitted: “Yeah, I don’t hate ‘em.”

Emma snorted, shoved him playfully and Henry commando rolled off the bed, sprang to his feet. “Oh - hey I need you to take something when you go and see Mom...” Henry snatched up his comic book, flipped through the pages until he came to a thickly folded piece of paper and pulled it out. He held it up, but when Emma reached for it he pulled it back. “I need you to promise me something, Ma – it’s important.”

Emma waited high on her knees, arms folded. “Shoot, kid.”

“I need you to promise me you won’t open this until Mom is there with you. She needs to see this and I think it will help – but you both need to be there, ok?”

Emma eyed him suspiciously though it was a simple enough request. She knew from his stance there was more to it, but she saw no reason not to comply. “I promise - now gimme.”

He handed it over, and Emma recognised the feel of the paper immediately – she’d felt it a hundred times. It was from Henry’s Storybook, and she wondered what he could possibly have found that they hadn’t all seen before, or that would matter so much he wanted it kept secret. _Never mind_ ; she tucked it into her back jeans pocket and stepped off the bed. “So… breakfast?”

Henry looked at her crookedly, tilted his head. “Don’t you want to go and see Mom now?”

 _More than anything. More than I can tell you. More than I even understand – it’s fucking terrifying. She consumes me._ Emma threw her arm carelessly around her son’s shoulder and dragged him to the door. “Nah kid – I wanna spend a little more time with you.”

It wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth. Emma was yet to come up with a plan and she needed one for Regina - and Emma couldn’t plan anything on an empty stomach. There was very little she could do on an empty stomach.

“But what I _really_ want is eggs,” Emma went on excitedly. “And hash browns. And pancakes. And bacon and syrup and a _bucket_ of coffee, and the entire beef herd of Texas.”

Henry elbowed her ribs and she laughed; held his neck tighter and dragged him down the stairs.

*****


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The minute her heart was in Emma’s hands, Regina knew. Knew beyond a doubt in her car when Emma spilled out her secrets -- Nothing less than everything would ever be enough."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to go live - Regina is obstinate and refused to be wrangled. 
> 
> This section is angsty and contains another glancing suggestion of an unhappy childhood - Regina's this time. Let me know if there's a problem.
> 
> I'm blown away by the kudos and recs this story is getting - thank you all so much. You can always chatter at me below in the comments or over at [nakedgirlmedia.tumblr.com](http://nakedgirlmedia.tumblr.com)
> 
> Strap in friends - this is gonna be a rocky ride.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_24\. [ It’s stronger with you ]_ **

An untuned radio filled the silence of the Merc with static as Regina drove herself home from Gold’s crap-cursed mansion.

She arrived at Mifflin Street weary and bereft - ignored the dried mud in the tiled entranceway, ignored the scuffed boot prints on the wooden floors, went straight to the kitchen and made tea.

She didn’t really want it.

Her discarded heart now glowed faintly on a coaster by the apples. Regina ignored that too, though each time black swirled into red it taunted her, accused; the turbulent eye of a storm she refused to let back inside. She escaped upstairs as soon as she could.

In her bedroom, she turned down rich cotton sheets, shed her dirty clothes like worn-out skin, stumbled to the ensuite to shower. The hard pelt of water washed away the grime but left everything else - harsh words in the scar of her mouth, regret in the creases of her hands, fear in the gaps of her spine. She leant against the wet slate wall until her head became too heavy and she sank to the tiles.

Regina hadn’t wanted to say those things. She hadn’t wanted to leave. All she wanted was Emma.

The minute her heart was in Emma’s hands, Regina knew. Knew beyond a doubt in her car when Emma spilled out her secrets -- Nothing less than everything would ever be enough.

_I want more._

That wasn’t the deal. Not that they had really talked about it, each more comfortable fighting or letting things unfold in silence – more recently, fucking. Days ago in that old mansion, as Emma’s magic spiralled out of control and Regina kissed her for the first time; or the next day in her vault, when things were heavy with curse but light with sated bodies and frivolous feelings - Regina had thought that would be enough.

Emma would come to her restless, or she would go to Emma; they would flounder and fuck, take comfort in fire and then fling away from each other again.

It was what they both wanted. It was all Regina had thought that she wanted. Not uncomplicated but easy enough, manageable, something they could take from each other without drastic reinvention, a new fibre in an already passionate, volatile pattern of interactions.

But Regina was wrong.

_I need more._

Regina knew Emma dwelled on the surface of relationships, waded around sometimes but barely got her knees wet. Regina had seen her with Graham, Neal, with Hook - Emma was present in the moment but never settled enough to use words like forever; she stayed in Storybrooke for Henry and her parents but the people she dated were never really a consideration.

That Emma wanted the hot-heat fumble of Regina’s body, the slick-wet coming together of their mouths and thighs, wanted someone for the rough times, the tedious times, the times when nobody else was watching – that much Regina accepted.

It was not enough. Not now.

_I want everything._

Maybe if it had just been the two of them, just she and Emma and no one else knew, then perhaps Regina would have learnt to live with that, taken what she could and pushed down the things that rose inside her.

It was not difficult for Regina to hide her feelings. She had done it her whole life, learnt it well when Snow spilled her secrets, when Cora killed Daniel in retribution for teenage rebellion and a non-strategic love -- For Regina, pretending was necessary. Then it became easy.

But the minute David caught them in the Clock Tower, everything changed.

People knew now, and that made it real. Emma would be forced to confront her feelings, to decide what she wanted and Regina knew it would not be her. Not in any real way, not her past filled with hatred, not her present filled with distrust, not a future that would never be easy. It would never be easy. Never light and uncomplicated - they would not survive on a whim. There would always be another fight, another threat, another monster -- not always from outside, so many from within.

Emma had said, ‘ _M_ _aybe, I dunno… worth it?’_ – but it was the _maybe_ that hung heaviest in the air, it lingered. Regina couldn’t hang her life on maybes.

And she couldn’t expect Emma to give up everything for this. Once everyone knew, it would be the only option, the only way they could be together. The blood-letting would begin, the ruthless veins of Storybrooke split open and poured out, a clotted blackness of half-truths and venom. On the off-chance Emma’s stubbornness kicked in, or her hero gene took over, Regina could not let her do that.

Emma had said she was in, she had not said it was for good, or for anything but Henry. This way she didn’t have to. It was better this way, for Regina to stop before Emma confessed something she would later regret, would later change her mind about and flee -- Regina would not survive that.

Perhaps Regina could still find a Happy Ending. Perhaps Henry and Emma would still help her, though the chance of finding one was so slim, the Author so elusive and improbable that at least this way, Henry would not have to hear the terrible tales of her past in greater, more spiteful detail; and Emma would not have to un-write her own future, cast against this role of unhappy Villain.

Water swirled angrily down the drain. Regina had blocked it with her prone body. Her teeth chattered, the shower icy cold - she dragged herself out, towelled wearily, slid into grey-silk pyjamas because the effort was low. She slunk between her sheets like a wounded animal.

_I just need to put some distance between us._

_I just need to not need her anymore._

_Given time, I’ll want nothing._

Regina waved out the light.

*

Sleep eluded her.

Regina chased it for hours, round and round the blankets twisted through her limbs, searched for it beneath pillows and comforter, the ravaged sanctity of her bed. Each time she reached blankness it became darkness, the savage kind that hunted her with words and actions she could not outrun, not even here.

Eventually, she gave in.

Tattered and tired Regina rose, made her way barefoot down to the cold kitchen; wished she had gotten that underfloor heating the minute the curse ended and Storybrooke caught up with the rest of the world. She made coffee, black and bitterly strong, a thinly filtered drip that textured her lips. Regina drank it like it was the only thing keeping her upright -- It was.

She stared at the paper for twenty minutes before she realised it was a week old; didn’t care in the slightest because she hadn’t absorbed a word of it. Regina debated a mop for her dirty floor because usually cleaning calmed her, but decided on magic and felt no guilt about it because Henry wasn’t there to see her poor example.

Regina didn’t know when her son would be home next, but guessed it wouldn’t be soon. Emma would be angry and didn’t always move beyond things easily. David would definitely stand in her way. Regina checked the cupboards to make sure Henry’s favourite snacks were there anyway.

She showered again, properly this time; changed into a well-tailored, plum-red silk blouse and a tight grey skirt with matching suit jacket. It felt curt and dangerous and fitted her mood. A thick black line ran up the back of her stockings from ankle to promised thigh, her shiny black heels thrust at the toe and rose into a vicious stiletto jab, higher than usual -- Regina needed that, needed to feel tall even though her insides stooped, crumpled into something smaller.

Today, Regina Mills: Power Bitch was back.

She swaggered into her Merc, headed into Main Street, needed to test how far the news had gotten. If anyone bit at her, she would tear their throats out.

Either way, she wanted French toast.

*

Strangely, nothing happened at Granny’s.

The food was reasonable, but Regina’s name hung on no one’s lips, the whispered hush when she entered was no greater than usual. She ordered, paid quietly without any undue harassment; Ruby even smiled at her, explained any lack of enthusiasm as due to her hangover and wished Regina a great day.

Regina wanted to stab somebody.

It was the kind of silent she didn’t want in her life, even when she yearned for it because it felt uncomfortably like she’d been forgotten. Regina just hoped this was because Emma was still comatose in sleep, that her parents did not really know what had gone on and not that she had become the dirtiest of secrets, the kind no one mentioned at family gatherings lest all became screaming and tears and an extreme reliance on alcohol.

There were some traditions that were constant throughout distant lands - that was one.

Regina finished eating, graciously close to clearing her plate, and stepped regally from the booth. She pointedly smoothed her skirt, gave the rabble any last chance to say something negative. When nothing was forthcoming, Regina strode out to her car. The bell rang hectically as she left.

In the driver’s seat, Regina sat stiffly, reminded herself of the point of all this, that she should be pleased no one had tried to attack her, no one accused her of corrupting their Savior, that she had lived through brunch and done it quietly.

Regina reached for Gold’s gilded container beside her -- she fussed with it, turned it this way and that; it was time she took it back to her vault for safekeeping. She would do a little research into whatever it was because she had the time. There was absolutely nothing else keeping her.

*

Regina leant her elbows on ancient texts, was hunched over a fandango of wizened pages, medium-framed rectangular glasses on her nose. With magic or decent-sized script she didn’t need the crutch, but this was small-type, hand-flourished calligraphy on weathered parchment and without assistance, things were impossible.

She had been working for hours, tucked into the small library of her vault, a take-away jug of Granny’s coffee near one hand and a restless, over-caffeinated twitch in the other. She was still no closer to an explanation for the strange hat Rumpelstiltskin had summoned last night.

At least this task consumed her. The search was all she’d thought about since she had gotten here; placed her heart behind a perfectly-sealed brick wall and moved on like an ideal student. Rumpel had hated bookwork, but it was most likely because he was essentially illiterate before he became the Dark One. Regina had always secretly enjoyed it.

She flipped through the pages, chased another elusive thread about someone called the ‘Sorcerer’, always frayed at the edges of the Author’s shadow – and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee, carelessly warmed it with her palm.

“ _REGINA_?”

Regina slammed the book shut, pulled the glasses from her face and threw them down without thought, pushed back from the table.

“REGINA?”

Why? Why was she here? How had Emma found her? Why had she come?

“REGINA!”

She wanted to seal herself in this room, as seamlessly as she had with the other, stone and mortar to shield her from outside probing. Flurried, flustered, Regina escaped from her chair, considered ducking behind a tall Romanesque statue with Puckish undertones -- stepped away when she realised how ridiculous she was being.

She folded her arms across her chest in protective warning, tapped her toe nervously, impatiently; counted down the seconds until Emma appeared.

The blonde’s fingers curved into the archway just before her hair did, crashed over the stone like sea-foam before crystalline green. Emma’s eyes were worried at first and Regina faltered, almost stepped forward to reassure her.

“The hell? Why didn’t you answer me?”

Purposefully, forcefully, Regina walked back to her chair and re-took it, slid the tapered chrome legs carefully under the desk. Her glasses hidden beneath a thick book cover, Regina flipped blandly through the pages. “We are not all prone to shouting, Miss Swan. Some of us--”

Regina stopped herself, heard her patronising tone, knew Emma would fight back and she didn’t have the energy to engage right now. She sighed, extended her legs in the footwell and crossed her ankles, fingers entwined in her lap. “What do you want, Emma?”

Emma pulled back, clearly unprepared for that reaction. She shuffled her weight on her boots, raked her fingers through perfectly curled hair and searched for the words she’d forgotten. “I just… I came looking for you. Pretty sure we need to talk.”

Regina said nothing, leant onto her desk again, returned her tired eyes to her books. She kept her fortitude there, the willpower to just let this go.

Emma shifted in the doorway. “… What’re you doing?”

Regina stared at a particularly complicated paragraph, fingers pulled tight in her hair. “Taxes.”

“Is that Gold’s hat thingy?” Emma pointed at the container that clearly was.

“What would I need with a magical hat? It’s hardly a deductible.”

Emma crossed her arms, mouth in a thin line. “You’re pissed.”

Regina wasn’t. That wasn’t it at all but she hoped if she threw out enough thorns, Emma would give in and go away. She drawled, “Why would you think that?”

“Because I have eyes and ears.” Emma stepped in, ignored the jagged prickles that tore at her skin – she was a Charming after all. “What I don’t understand is _why_ you’re pissed. I told you I’m in; I told you and Henry I’d get you a Happy Ending, that I’d give you one personally and you freaked out and left me there. If anyone should be pissed, it’s me.”

“That would be a perfectly sensible reaction.” Regina turned in her chair, dark eyes flashed. “Why don’t you do that _elsewhere_. Go home, play some loud music and destroy something useful in your parents’ house – and in a week, if you want to, we can go back to pretending this never happened.”

Long, dark lashes narrowed across deep-peridot eyes. Emma crossed her arms tightly over her chest, thin mouth snapped the question: “Where’s your heart?”

“Excuse me?” Regina leant back in her chair again; arms mirrored Emma’s, uncomfortably defended her chest. “I hardly think that’s any of your business.”

“That’s _exactly_ my business Regina, your heart is all of my business – I know it’s not in your chest. Where’d you stash it?”

“I--” Regina rose partly from her chair, palms flat on the desk and she stared piercingly at Emma, shocked as she realised -- “You put yours back in...”

Emma shrugged, shoulders militant. “Yeah – so what if I did?”

 _I should have been there._  A myriad of emotions battled for control of Regina’s face - anger and fear, regret, pain. “ _Emma_ …”

The blonde collapsed a little. Propelled forward, pushed by a sudden need to be closer, for Regina to be less-distant Emma put her hands on the far edge of the desk. “Of course I put it back in, what did you think I was gonna do? I wasn’t gonna just leave it in that library, I wasn’t gonna pretend I had it back in, I didn’t-- I couldn’t.”

Emma shoved her hands into her tight pockets. “I said I was in Regina, and I meant it; I meant I’m  _all_  in, every part of me, every stupid little, frustrating—” A strangled growl. “We’re gonna talk about this Regina – But I’m not doing it ‘til you’ve got your heart. Where is it?”

Regina swallowed heavily, reached for her coffee and drank primly, as though her hand didn’t shake, as though it wasn’t the only thing that kept back the tide of her tongue. “I don’t have it here.”

“That’s crap, Regina.” Emma’s eyes flickered around the room. “There’s no way you wouldn’t keep it with you, this vault is the safest place for it so where is it?”

“I didn’t—”

Emma lunged forward and Regina startled, all wide-eyed gasped mouth; Emma tugged back the chair with Regina still in it, grabbed her by the wrist firmly enough to get her attention without hurting her, yanked the brunette to her feet. “We’re not doing this Regina,” Emma warned through gritted teeth. Her eyes stung wetly. “Henry needs you,  _I_  need you. I need all of you, and I’m not gonna let you hide here anymore.”

Emma dragged Regina out into the hall, hand tight in the woman’s elbow; led her back to the thing Emma had noticed earlier in her search. Regina realised where Emma was taking her and strained against it, dug her heels in but Emma’s grip was unrelenting.

A breathless, “Emma, _no_ …”

The blonde ignored her, kept going until she reached the wall, the wall that never used to be there. “Where is it, Regina? The room -- It was right here. It was  _definitely_ here two days ago, I know because I was in it.”

Regina looked away -- from it, from Emma; silent.

“Is this your plan, really?” Emma was incredulous, angry. Everything hurt, bundled up in her throat and she forced her voice out around it. “You think you can just lock it all away? Pretend that it doesn’t matter anymore, ignore it ‘til it disappears? Because it doesn’t work like that Regina, it doesn’t just go away –  _I don’t just go away_. I said I was in and I’m in, how do you not GET that?”

Regina diminished in Emma’s fury, dissolved in her vitriol - it was too much. It had been too much for a while now. She had lost a happily contrived fairytale notion of True Love and gained something more honest and real than she knew what to do with, all in the space of a few weeks -- And here, now, Regina could destroy it all again.

“I  _care_  about you, dammit!” Emma went on, throat ragged. “I don’t know how to even make this—You’re not making this easy, Regina! I don’t know how to do this if you’re not in it, I don’t know what I’m even doing here!”

Regina deserved this frustration, the criticism of her inability and once Emma had it out of her system things would be quiet again. Without her heart it was easy enough for Regina to deal with - she did as she had many times before. She sank behind her eyes and waited for it to be done.

“I don’t know what you want, but I’m NOT gonna let you just—” Emma stopped suddenly, her words rang shrilly against the stone walls. Something had changed, and she didn’t know what exactly but she knew it was in Regina. Emma loosened her hold, softer where it had been firm but never bruising. “Regina?”

Silence. Emma tried to catch her eyes but Regina wasn’t there - a cold pliancy, something like in the old mansion and Emma knew a disconnect when she saw one. She had used this method often enough herself – usually for survival. Emma didn’t know where Regina’s instinct came from, but she had an idea -- _Cora, you fucking piece of shit._

Emma stepped away, until her shoulders touched the stone wall and she angled herself, slid slowly down to the hard floor; wrists dangled over her raised knees, a restless hand raked through her blonde hair. “Dammit, Regina...”

Emma exhaled through pursed lips, smoothed her palms over her black jeans.

“So, we fight a lot…” Emma began stiltedly, then chuckled, because in any functional relationship this would be the sentence where things ended, not the way they began. “I know we’ve punched each other in the past or whatever– You’ve got a mean right hook by the way, did I ever tell you that?” Emma rubbed her jaw ruefully, as though it had not forgotten the jab in front of this vault so long ago. “And that’s ok. I mean, I’d rather we didn’t go around doing that anymore but the fighting, yelling at each other, the getting fucking _angry_ – that’s just gonna happen, Regina. It’s who we are. It doesn’t mean…”

Emma puffed air from billowed cheeks. Her voice was smaller when she admitted, “When you actually care about someone it’s different, I know. I shouldn’t’ve-- I’m sorry. But you’ve gotta know I’m not gonna hurt you, you’ve gotta trust me here. Just because I’m angry doesn’t mean I’m gonna throw it all in, y’know? I mean… I’m not going anywhere, Regina. And I’m not here to hurt you.”

Regina’s hand shook against her thigh in Emma’s peripheral vision.

 _Emma, not like this maybe, not with force -  but my heart, Emma, my heart… It’s more delicate than you realise…_ But Regina wasn’t about to say that out loud. She’d already revealed too much of herself in this moment. Her voice creaked, whispered dryly, “I know...”

There was a long pause, and Emma waited in it.

Regina cleared her throat. Shiny black heels appeared by Emma’s careless boots. Then, in clipped tones: “I am not getting down there, Emma - not in this skirt. Please stand up.”

 _Hey, there she is…_ A smile ghosted Emma’s mouth; she swallowed it down and pushed to her feet.

Regina was still clearly uncomfortable with what had happened to her here, the shutdown; her eyes glittered and swam, vein thick on her forehead. But Emma wasn’t about to make a big deal of it. She tucked her thumbs into her back pockets, said softly, “Hey.”

Regina folded her arms, eyebrow cocked over still-damp eyes. “I wish you’d stop saying that, we’re not on a farm.”

“Not dressed like that you’re not.” Emma grinned rakishly at her. “That skirt is _great_ by the way...” Green eyes followed the tight grey fabric up through pencil-cut lines, and Emma’s fingers ached to follow the hugged curve of ass and thighs. “ _Very_ nice.”

Regina snorted, unimpressed – though secretly pleased – and more of her tension slipped away. She reclaimed her composure smoothly. “I’m so glad you approve. Given your… high-quality sense of fashion.”

Emma eyed the old grey singlet she wore under her brown leather jacket, the hole where her dark-red bra showed through. She shrugged. “Yeah, well – we can’t all be Versace. And he’s dead, so at least I’m doing better than that.” Before Regina’s eyes rolled again, Emma pushed on, “So, are we doing this?”

Regina sighed. Emma was making this so difficult -- each time the blonde looked at her, or stood too close or just _breathed_ , more of Regina’s resolve slipped away. Nothing was going the way she’d planned. Though with Emma Swan, it rarely did. Regina eyed the new wall warily. “I’d rather we didn’t.”

“That’s kind of not an option. But I can do it if you want – it’ll get messy, so you might wanna stand back…” Emma raised her hands at the wall and her magic crackled to life.

“Step aside, Emma,” Regina demanded; huffed when Emma chuckled at her and moved away.

Regina hesitated again, though the spell was simple enough. The room itself - what it held and what it meant - was another matter. She exhaled slowly; raised her arm and waved at the stone as though she shooed it away. The wall disappeared, the room beyond revealed again to a harsh reality.

“Ok…” Emma stepped through the small entranceway, turned and smiled back at Regina. “--Now we’re getting somewhere.”

*****

****

**_25\. [ If I could ]_ **

Regina brushed her hand over the box that contained her heart, fingers traced its plain wooden edges -- _So unassuming for something so singularly crucial_ …

Emma watched from further in the room, sat with her back against a leg of the Queen’s overdone chair. The throne seemed out of place now, and not nearly as imposing without an Evil Queen in it - but the rug beneath was still comfy enough. She sprawled out, ankles crossed, hands in its soft, thick fibres.

Regina turned and propped herself against the small sidetable, arms folded. The room made her itch, as did the premise of returning her heart – she shifted uncomfortably in her silk shirt, frowned down at Emma. “What are you doing down there?”

“Hangin’ out. Waiting for you to do something.” Emma re-settled herself. “Might as well relax, I figure this’ll take a while.”

Regina arched an eyebrow. “Oh you do, do you? And what if I simply refuse to put my heart back?”

“Then I’ll have to fight you on it,” Emma said plainly. “And it’s gonna be a long one.”

Regina couldn’t help the smile that glanced her lips, small and persistent. “I suppose I should’ve brought my coffee.”

Around the room, candlelight flickered in sconces and lamps, created movement where there was none. Silence grew between them, resounding; stretched out like a panther, not uncomfortable but ominous, Regina’s face pensive. Regina had no clue how to start this, no idea or real wish to end it, she was mostly lost - in time, in this place.

“Why did you do it?” Emma’s voice was hoarse, there was no humour to her now, shoulders tensed, her question forced through a falcate throat. “I said I was in Regina, I gave you--” She trailed off, glared across the space, eyes balled lightning, tone rumbled thunder. “I said I wanted to do this. You made me think you wanted it too.”

_I did, Emma; I do -- don’t push me on this. I want you more than I can stand - please, don’t push me._

“If you didn’t want me… If you don’t wanna do this, fine - put your heart back in and just tell me because I deserve that Regina. I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t wanna do, I’m not gonna fight you on this if that’s not what you want so just do it.”

_I want you more than anything. I want everything, Emma – and I don’t think you know what that means. I can’t ask that of you._

Emma’s face had fallen to a crumpled mess, the weight of a lifetime of being sent away, of being left behind still so fresh after returning her heart. Anger was still there, but the tide in her eyes eroded it steadily. “David is the only person who actually knows anything right now and if your privacy means more to you than me, then— It’s not a big town Regina, but I’ve made myself scarce in smaller.”

A vacuum had formed between them, sucked the breath from Regina’s lungs, the force of Emma’s desolation like a collapsed star. Regina dropped her dark head, hands white-knuckled against the edge of the small table, she rasped, “That’s not it, Emma. That is not what I want, it’s not about-- If I put my heart back in...”

“ _What_ , Regina?” Emma crossed her legs, leant over them, fingers splayed in white and a splash of red. “I don’t—I chose _you_ , y’know? And I meant that, I meant– It’s not just for Henry, I meant it for you. I love that kid, he’s _our_ kid and I’m not going anywhere but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you. This is about you, this is about… _Us_.”

At the word, Regina raised her face. Burnt-amber eyes swam stormy waters, and the candlelit room dazzled her for a moment with Monet brushwork.

“ _Us_?” Regina laughed but there was no humour to it. All of her hurt shunted into anger – it was who she was. It was the only way she knew how to do this, how to be. “Do you know what that means, Emma? Do you have _any_ idea? My ‘ _privacy’_ is not the issue here. The issue is this room; it’s the world out there, it’s this town, it’s Henry and your parents – it’s _you_.”

Regina pushed off the sidetable and it rattled, her heart shaken in its box. She stalked towards Emma as she spoke. “Do you remember what I did to you in this room? Do you remember who I was? Because that’s nothing, _nothing_ compared to what I did to the people of this town and there is _nothing_ to say I won’t do it again. I hurt you here, Emma – do you need to be reminded of that?”

Emma felt herself magically lifted then, dragged slowly to her feet. She didn’t fight it, didn’t feel the fear she knew she probably should have. This was not the Evil Queen, this was Regina - wounded and angry and no less formidable, but Regina all the same. Emma wasn’t backing down. A part of her had expected this.

They were eye to eye now, toe to toe, Regina’s breath hot on Emma’s cheek; green eyes slid shut as Regina leant in, until her lips grazed Emma’s ear. “Do I need to remind you of the ways I tried to _break_ you?”

Emma shivered. Her breath quickened as Regina hung there, each maddening inhalation forced their breasts perfectly together.

The complex scent of Emma’s shampoo, of her faintly spiced skin was intoxicating and Regina almost forgot what she was doing, why she was doing it; almost lost herself in blonde and fire. But she doused the burn that coursed through her, gritted her teeth and pulled herself back just enough to still be imposing. “The Villain that I am, Emma, the way the Author wrote me – I have no doubt I will hurt you again. It is always there. There won’t be a Happy Ending for me, certainly not for _us_ \- not in this lifetime.”

Emma struggled for sense. She felt the page Henry had given her folded in her back pocket and she almost reached for it, but knew whatever it showed - in this mood, Regina would tear it and her to pieces. Emma shook her swimming head, cleared her desert throat. “You don’t know what will happen, Regina. Henry and I—”

Regina shoved her, hard enough that Emma stumbled back against the padded-velvet chair. “You are children, both of you - thinking you can locate some _higher power_ and beg for my forgiveness -- It doesn’t work that way, Emma. And even if it did…” Suddenly, Regina lost some of her ferocity. It was tamped down by a traitorous truth that had settled so heavily on her these past two days.

She wanted Emma. She wanted this Swan-Mills family life, wanted the Happy Ending, wanted _everything_ \-- But the library Henry had found was the perfect example of just how much nothing she possessed to obtain it. Bitter tears welled. “We have no idea where the Author is, or who; or how to find them and even if we did, it could take _years_. It could be impossible. And you would be left here with me, _exactly_ as I am.”

Angry salt churned Emma’s eyes but she shook her head, and a little sweetness touched her mouth. “I’m ok with that.”

Regina growled frustration; spun away, a fire of outrage stoked in her again. Emma followed her heedlessly.

“Why are we even still talking about what happened during the curse? It was a _curse_ , Regina, and the rest of it...” Emma pleaded to her turned back. “Look, I know this isn’t gonna be easy. It’s never been easy between us, there’s always gonna be something else we’re fighting about or something magical to fight against and you know what? - Henry’s gonna be a teenager really soon, and god help us when that happens…”

Emma nursed a smile, twisted and apprehensive – she was an asshole as a teen, and guessed Regina probably wasn’t much better. Under the kind skin of their son, a war could be brewing.

Emma shrugged her shoulder, face ran the gamut of emotions; she felt heavy, tired, exhausted from propping Regina up as much as herself. “But that’s not the point -- the point is, I’m gonna be here anyway. I’m not going anywhere, and I’d rather do all of that with you exactly like we’ve been doing the last—” _God, has it only been that long?_ “—incredibly long week. So just-- Put in your goddamn heart.”

Regina shook her head, forcibly distanced herself from the thing in the box Emma kept inching towards. _It’s not enough. I need more. I want everything._ “You don’t know what you’re saying, Emma—”

“I know exactly what I’m saying Regina, I just don’t think you’re hearing me.” Emma reached for the wooden case and pulled it open, dug out Regina’s heart and held it out in her hand. “If you don’t want to do this, if you don’t want to do _us_ , then - put the damn thing in your chest and just tell me. Tell me with your heart in and I’ll believe you.”

Emma curled her fingers around Regina’s heart, daring; Regina built a fort across her chest, all stone forearms and quoin elbows. Silence stretched again but this time the panther readied to pounce.

“I can’t!” Regina admitted it raggedly, brokenly. “If I put my heart back there’s no way— I won’t be able to leave you Emma, I won’t—”

“Then don’t!” Emma shouted.

“—And I will always want _more_.” Regina ached, her chest an open cut where her heart still bled. “— _More_ than we had this week, more than a secret affair, more than a lifetime of you and I can’t--”

“Dammit, that’s— _What_?” Emma froze, unsure she had actually heard what Regina said.

 “—I can’t expect that of you. I can’t expect you to give up your family, your own Happy Ending to maybe never find mine. I don’t want you to throw everything away on me, and—”

“Regina…” Emma reeled, wondered how they had reached this point. She knew fairytale characters took their Forevers seriously, but somehow she hadn’t expected Regina to operate the same way.

Regina grew louder, stridently impassioned, voice wrenched and raw; “-- And I don’t want you to do that and realise… This isn’t what you wanted. _I’m_ not what you wanted. If we stop now, Emma, if we go back to the way things were, I will survive. But when you change your mind later, when this gets too hard—”

“Regina, stop…” Emma didn’t know if she wanted her to stop talking or to stop feeling this way. She’d said she was in, and Emma meant for good but still thought it would be a slow build, a discovery of what they wanted and what they could be to each other. And yet – _Haven’t I been thinking this way too? When David found us, I didn’t run – doesn’t that mean something?_

“—And you run away again, Henry will know, everyone will know, that I’m just—” Regina heard Emma’s words again; they echoed in this place, she felt them in her hollowed ribs, the things used to draw out the hatred of the Evil Queen - they still affected her. “ I’m just a sad, lonely woman who can’t convince  _anyone_  to love her…”

“ _Stop!_ ” Emma’s command cut through the crescendo, the ringing vibrato like a damaged bell. _It means something, it does -- It means everything_.

And maybe Emma had only just realised, or maybe she’d only just admitted it right now, but Emma knew what she wanted and it was time Regina did too. “Regina, just _stop_ , just… please, put in your heart.”

“ _No_.” Regina turned away from the thing thrust at her, angrier now that she realised she had said everything, and Emma had heard none of it.

“Regina…” Emma hissed. She didn’t know how to do this, didn’t really want to try while there was still a chance Regina would simply walk away. “Dammit – I said I’m in, ok? And maybe I didn’t know what that meant until right now but—”

A barked laugh, more like a sob tore from Regina’s mouth. “You don’t have to say it, Emma, I know—”

“No you frikkin’ don’t!” Emma was pissed then, a swirling green tornado of her eyes twisted and fierce, the kind that stole people away and spat them out in strange lands. “Dammit Regina, you’re gonna stop talking now and you’re gonna listen to me because it’s _my turn_.”

Emma strode towards her as she spoke, stormed Regina’s personal boundaries as the brunette backed away. “Regina, I run _before_ I commit to something, it’s what I do and you know that. It’s easier and faster and nobody gets hurt - and by nobody, I mean me. But I don’t shirk a commitment once I’ve made it. I said I was in and I meant it - _I’m not going anywhere._ I am in _for good_.”

Regina’s back hit the wall and Emma stood too close, her glowering heart held between them. “And I’m not doing this out of some sort of responsibility to you or Henry, I’m doing it because _I_ want to. I’m doing it because it’s right for _me_ , because you’re not the only person looking for a goddamn Happy Ending in this town, and you need to stop acting like it doesn’t affect me, like this might not be _exactly_ what I want.”

Emma caught Regina’s eyes, locked them in insistent green. “And everything you’re doing right now sounds like you’re doing it because you think you’re protecting me, like you’re _saving_ me somehow, and – Lady,” Emma slammed her hand on the stone wall beside Regina’s head; spoke close to her red mouth. “—I think you’ve forgotten who _I_ am. _I’m_ the Savior in this town. That’s how _I_ was written. And you don’t get a say in that.”

Regina was livid, all flared nostrils and pounding forehead. She set fire to the hope parade that had started up in her chest, bared white teeth against all the right words Emma was saying. The blonde was supposed to run. She was supposed to make this easy.

“Of course, if you wanna be the Savior,” Emma pulled back; “I guess I could be the Evil Queen…” White magic sparked in her palm, and then Regina was pressed to the wall, lifted until her pointed toes barely touched the ground. Emma didn’t know if she could maintain the hold, but all she really needed to do was to make her point.

“Put me down!” Regina demanded, almost screeched.

Emma waved her higher - held out the glowing lump, avoided Regina’s swiped hands and flung feet. “Put your damned heart in.”

“Emma Swan, if you don’t—”

“Shut up Regina. I said I’m not going anywhere and I can do this all day, so just – _put it in_.”

Regina struggled and kicked, relinquished all dignity as she fought against Emma’s magical hold but although sweat glittered on Emma’s brow, Regina somehow knew the blonde would keep her here through unconsciousness if she had to. Emma was the only person who could out-stubborn her -- and even if she thought she could beat Emma on this, Regina didn’t know if she wanted to.

_This is everything. She is everything._

Regina snatched up her heart. She glared at Emma, one final _You asked for it…_ and without ceremony or grandeur, Regina shoved it back into her chest. Her head lolled, collapsed under the weight of all that suddenly returned, the skipped beat and breathlessness of rapid repossession; Regina shook and shivered, a shuddered gasp and Emma’s name whispered through her lips - and then nothing for a while but white-hot pain.

Regina barely felt herself lowered slowly to the ground; couldn’t stay on her feet, slumped back against the wall and sank onto the cool stone.

“Regina? Are you ok?”

Regina held to the uneven cracks of the floor, clawed fingers and sharp nails on rough mortar. Emma crouched down beside her and Regina waved her off, needed a second to catch her breath, needed to readjust to the everything she felt drowning her again.

“Regina…?”

“Take it back,” she whispered; hadn’t meant to say it aloud, didn’t know if she meant Emma’s words or her own only that something had broken. Everything was broken. Regina shattered.

*****

**Still with me? Let me know how you're feeling in the comments section below.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Two strides and Regina was on her, all desperate lips and forceful tongue. Emma stumbled backward, clutched Regina’s waist instinctively, mouth caught in her fury."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is **explicit**. 
> 
> Regina's 'unpleasant' younger years are hinted at again, but should be covered by any content tags above. Let me know if there are problems. 
> 
> Your comments get more amazing with each chapter, and I can't thank you enough for that and your kudos. Enjoy the dirty, I think we've all earned it.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_26\. [ I would tell you everything ]_ **

Emma hung her arms over her bent knees, fought not to touch the raw nerve of Regina. “Did it—”

A haggard, somnolent: “Just-- Take it back.”

“Take what back, your heart?”

 _Yes, start with that. Tear it from my chest; reverse time, take back my confessions, take back the way you care about me - it has always ended badly._ “All of it,” Regina creaked.

Regina had removed and replaced her heart a thousand times. It hadn’t always been bad or even eventful, mostly just those first few attempts, or the time in the Enchanted Forest after Snow found her with blackened nails, digging in the dirt like an animal because she thought she’d lost Henry forever.

But this was something else, something like a firestorm in a chest too small to contain it, her tinderbox heart.

Emma’s calves burned in her low-crouched squat; she teetered against the urge to pull Regina up, to hold them both with her body - her shoulders and arms, this honed spirit were not just for show. “Regina? I don’t--”

“It’s too much,” Regina groaned, fingers clutched in her silk shirt, to her knees, to handfuls of thick, dark hair.

“Are you…” Emma didn’t know what to say. “Will you be ok?”

_I don’t know. I don’t ever know._

Regina was the _boom-boom-boom_ of a disparate heartbeat and the droned reverberation of Emma’s words, she was denial and realisation; she was frenzied. Regina struggled suddenly to stand, knees hindered by the tight fabric of her skirt - she dug one heel into the stone, fingers splayed like a runner on a mark. Crouched and coiled, Regina threw her head back, a midnight waterfall, a tarmac avalanche. She battled for breath. “I need to get out of here.”

“Ok…” Emma reached for her arm to support her. “We’ll—”

Regina flinched away. “I don’t need your help,” she snarled, voice like a double-bass breaking.

_If you touch me, I’ll lose this last piece of control and I don’t know what will happen._

Emma sank back, her arms dangled. She watched this feverish storm front, waited, a brittle ache fissured her ribs but if Regina wanted to do this on her own, Emma wouldn’t intervene. _Yet._

Regina forced her other heel beneath her - she was determined to stand, to take her own two feet; so determined that she made the mistake of looking past Emma and around this room. There, the wall she had trapped Emma against, the throne where she had kept Emma on her knees; there, the candlelit corner, the capriciously discarded footstool -- all places Regina had taken more than she was ever meant to.

Her mouth became a bellows, her tongue the flame that licked against dry lips until they cracked. Regina shuddered to a halt before she ever really got off the ground, an anguished whisper, “I hurt you here.”

Emma countered quickly, firmly, “No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did.” Regina gritted her teeth against a fractious wave of emotions, the sand churned beneath her. _Everything you said—Emma, you can’t feel this way. I did these things to you, and we keep talking around them but I did them and that changes everything. These events have weight. They matter._

White incisors carved through Regina’s lipstick grimace. She hissed, “Don’t make this less than it is, Emma.”

“Don’t make it more,” Emma shot back, annoyed. Her thighs had started to burn, her calves from resting on the balls of her feet for too long. She stood smoothly, folded her arms across a brown-leather, grey-and-red chest, and fixed Regina with an unimpressed eyebrow.

They kept coming back to this, this thing that could be explained away with a Curse and a little confusion. Regina insisted on coming back to it and there was something in that, Emma knew - something in the way Regina had hurtled from this vault, as much as there was something in the way Emma had been drawn back to it -- The power of the Evil Queen, the powerlessness they each felt in this place.

“Regina…” Emma rubbed her face with both hands, sighed into her palms. She slid her fingers back until they knotted tightly in her hair. “I think… I think you got hurt here. I think it hurt you and I don’t--” Emma winced at the reluctance in her own voice when she asked, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Regina did not. _We don’t talk. Lately we have talked too much._ She was the convoluted beats of a gun-shy heart, her shattered larynx, her furious eyes -- Regina had been too long on this hard floor.

She rose incarnate.

Regina was jagged, a towering behemoth; Ozymandias, and she looked down on Emma with the aid of stilettos and uneven stone. “ _Take it back_ ,” she gravelled, a guttural demand.

Emma retreated slightly, electricity arced across the vertebrae of her spine -- there was something in the way Regina stared at her, a needy hunger, a perilous darkness and Emma shivered involuntarily. “I don’t know what you—”

Two strides and Regina was on her, all desperate lips and forceful tongue. Emma stumbled backward, clutched Regina’s waist instinctively, mouth caught in her fury. Regina’s hands were in her hair, fingers pulled against thick waves of blonde; she drew Emma’s head down, angled her face for frantic kisses and tangible control.

Emma’s lanky arms lifted away, stretched at her sides; she came up through Regina’s furious grip, pushed back on her shoulders. Emma fought for air, for space, for just a second to understand what was going on. “Regina? Wh—”

“Take it back.” Regina kissed her again, tore the brown leather jacket from Emma’s torso and tossed it away, grabbed her wrist and dragged Emma’s hand inside the low opening of her plum blouse, until it was pressed forcefully to her black satin bra, trapped there by tight silk.

Emma moaned against Regina’s mouth though she hadn’t meant to, head reeled with the onslaught of tongue and lips, of the body that strained against her. Regina’s breast crushed in her palm; Emma’s arm slipped again around the woman’s bowed waist, fingers splayed in the small of her spine. Regina ground her hips against Emma’s, whimpered when Emma slid her hand down over the curve of Regina’s ass and pulled her tightly into black-denim friction.

Emma’s lips gave way to Regina’s tongue, fought with it even though she didn’t know what they were fighting for. Regina seemed agitated, vehement, unsatisfied with the little Emma offered her, Emma’s body still wary at the sudden turn of events. She wanted Regina, she always wanted her but there was something about this moment that put Emma on edge.

Emma tried to pull back, reluctant to give up her grip on the perfect curve of Regina’s ass but had to if she wanted to keep herself together. Regina’s fingers were on her arm again then, grasped at Emma’s wristbones; Regina dragged their hands together slowly, slowly up over her knee, gathered the tight fabric of her skirt as they went; hitched it up, up over her thigh and Emma’s nails caught on small clasps and lace bars.

An almost pained sound stuck in Emma’s throat when she realised Regina’s stockings were attached to a garter belt; she lost control of it completely when Regina pushed their fingers against the burning, damp satin between her thighs. A whispered _Fuck_ as Emma wrenched her mouth free, dropped her head against the feeling and struggled to remember why this needed to stop.

“Take it back,” Regina pleaded against her ear.

To Emma it sounded suddenly like _Take this from me_ , or _Take it out on me, take it out on my skin_ , and she stiffened, froze.

This was not why she’d come here. There was nothing about this that thrilled Emma, everything that repelled. A different kind of electricity jolted her skin, shocked her away and she tore her hands free of Regina’s shirt and panties. “What the hell?” Emma asked darkly. “What are you asking me to do here?”

Regina’s contorted mouth, the ferocity and anger that undercut her desperation: “I want you to take it back,” she growled again, knowing this time Emma understood her intent. “Everything I did, everything I took – I want you to take it back.”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Emma snapped. “This is not—” Emma bit her tongue against the rest of her words. Her boot scuffed the edge of a great precipice, she sensed it, saw it in Regina’s face that there was more at stake here than Emma’s offended sensibilities. Regina teetered on that edge, waited to be pushed, could jump or fall at any time and Emma could not let any of those things happen.

Emma reined in her anger, took a slow, careful breath; held tightly to Regina’s hand. Emma’s voice was low, a tempered warning when she said, “This isn’t a punishment, Regina; sex isn’t a punishment to me. I don’t know what you thought I wanted here, but it’s not that.”

Regina growled her frustration and ripped away. Emma lunged after her, caught her fingertips again before Regina got too far - they twisted together, strands of a rope in a tug-o’-war, until Emma yanked her back. “No you listen to me, because this is not— I’m not gonna say this again. I need you to look at me, Regina.”

Emma waited, waited a long time until Regina met her eyes; defiant black pools that caught restless light in their murky depths.

Emma risked reaching out then, brushed a strand of dark hair trapped in Regina’s lipstick and when the woman tried to pull away again, Emma held her jaw, fingers insistent at the base of Regina’s skull. “This isn’t a thing we take turns at Regina, hurting each other to make it better - I don’t want that, I don’t think _you_ want that. I think you’ve had that and I know I have but it’s fucked up Regina; I don’t want that with you. There’s nothing in that for me.”

Regina’s eyes were closed, wet rivulets eroded the makeup from her cheeks while the tone of her forehead darkened, a stressed line that pounded in time with her tensely-worked jaw. Anguish and no small amount of fear was hidden beneath the fierceness of Regina’s mouth, but not well, not anymore, not from Emma - this open wound on a caged predator, raw and dangerous.

Emma trod carefully closer, slid her other hand into the regal line of Regina’s neck. “Y’know what? There are a million things I wanna do to you Regina - nasty, dirty stuff…” A smirk curved Emma’s lip, mischief danced briefly in green eyes. “But I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want to do and if you’re not a willing part of this, then I’m not either.”

Emma shook her head, pissed she even had to say these things -- _What kind of a fucked up place did you come from that I have to say this?_ \-- But Regina obviously needed to hear it, and Emma would say it again and again until she believed it _._ “I don’t wanna _take_ anything from you, Regina - I’m not here for that.” Emma cupped her face, held her wild eyes, said resolutely: “I want _you_ , _just_ you, exactly as you are, exactly as _I_ am – that’s it. That’s everything. I want everything -- everything you are and _nothing_ that you’re not.”

A sob strangled from Regina’s throat. Her knees buckled and she fell into Emma, against the broad lines of her shoulders and soft curves of her chest. Regina clung to her, lip bitten against the salty tide that escaped until she tasted blood, shook like a storm in the cove of Emma’s arms.

Emma waited -- held Regina tightly, held her like a true Charming, rested her chin on Regina’s hair; pressed her cheek there and let Regina cry for a while, in private.

Once the shudders stopped, Emma felt the embarrassed rigidity of Regina’s muscles and spine, knew the inner dialogue exactly because she’d heard it herself, the – _What are you thinking?_ and _This is ridiculous!_ ; and _Get yourself together…_ Emma wouldn’t let Regina brush it off, not this time. They had come too far.

Emma held Regina’s cheek, pulled back just enough to smile crookedly at her. When Regina glared, her eyes narrowed -- Emma kissed Regina’s temple, kissed the bony line of her cheek; trailed her lips across soft skin to the sharp corner of Regina’s jaw and kissed every inch of it; nipped and soothed until something in Regina relented - and when the corner of her red mouth tilted up, Emma kissed there too – lightly, but for a very long time.

Eventually Regina pushed Emma away but there was no malice in it - cheeks pink, a full-lipped smile as she complained, “Idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ idiot,” Emma grinned, chuckled as Regina rolled her eyes, exactly as Emma had expected.

“Lucky me,” Regina returned dryly. But she meant it. _What could I possibly have done to deserve this? How does a Villain get_ her _?_

Emma stepped into Regina again, put her hands on Regina’s hips like a slow dance. She smiled brilliantly – and slid one hand down over Regina’s ass. Regina raised an eyebrow at her, folded her arms between them and Emma’s other hand moved; Regina felt her finger curled into one of the elastic slings of her garter belt, still exposed at the edge of her hitched skirt - Emma flicked it before Regina had the chance to slap her hand away.

“This is nice,” Emma thrummed, and leant back into her.

“ _Nice_?” Regina questioned, mouth haughty, arms tight in stiff warning.

“ _Very_ nice,” Emma improved; “Hot - insanely hot. Makes a Savior wanna do _evil_ things.”

Regina scoffed, but her eyebrow quirked, mouth ghosted a smile and she nodded curtly. “I should think so. I put a great deal of effort into this outfit.”

“I can see that. What’s the occasion?”

Regina almost said, _‘You are’_ – but couldn’t bring herself to be quite so saccharine; and besides, it wasn’t the truth. Regina had begun to realise there was no need to lie to Emma, not for her ego and not for her protection. It was liberating, though possibly dangerous.

_How much do I give out before she has everything? What if she takes it all when she leaves?_

But Emma had said she wasn’t going anywhere. She’d said she was in. And maybe Regina just had to trust that.

Regina cleared her throat. “I wanted to look… _Mayoral_ , in case anyone had the gall to attack me this morning at Granny’s.” The admission cost Regina, a reddening of her cheeks.

Emma laughed. “This is Mayoral? ‘Cause I would’ve said vintage pin-up, dirty boss-fantasy kind of— _Wait_ …” Emma’s tongue darted along dried lips. “Are you saying you were wearing this stuff in your office? Every time I had to sit through one of those boring-ass Council budgets, you had _this_ on under your desk?”

Regina schooled her face into blankness, though liquid heat swirled through dark-chocolate eyes. “Not this set in particular. I own many kinds.” Emma’s moan was barely audible, more of a rumble Regina felt in her thighs and she did her best not to smile. “Why do you ask, Miss Swan? Would you have found the information pertinent?”

“I would’ve paid a damn lot more attention in those meetings,” Emma rasped. “To you, anyway.”

“Well… I’ll keep that in mind, in case I ever re-take the office,” Regina purred, sultry, a dangerous smile. A second later, she was pulled into Emma’s arms.

“I would re-take you all over that office,” Emma declared, and kissed her feverishly.

Regina grinned against Emma’s mouth, and before it could go further, Emma lifted Regina around the hips, so high that the woman had to put her hands on Emma’s shoulders to steady herself, and when Regina tipped her head back and laughed it was the most honest, mellifluous sound Emma had ever heard, something so uncharacteristic, so filled with delight; it spilled arpeggiato from Regina’s curved throat, rained down on Emma’s skin like a drought breaking.

Emma smiled so widely she thought her face might split, eventually let Regina down; slowly, languidly against the planes of her body. The tight skirt that had hitched on one side gathered over Regina’s other thigh, dragged up by Emma’s belt, even as Regina’s hipbones scraped maddeningly over Emma’s breasts, her ribs, pulled her grey tank-top down to reveal more of Emma’s blood-red bra.

By the time she and Regina were face-to-face again, Emma had little control over anything other than her ability to tug Regina to her mouth. Emma kissed her like a fire drill, like an earthquake, like a landmine; kissed her in hieroglyphs and half-Elvish and braille; kissed her like it had been far too long but they had finally gotten here; kissed her like _everything_.

Regina clutched Emma’s face, her jaw, her ears; knotted her fingertips in golden hair, grasped for any part of Emma she could hold on to. She held Emma’s wrists when the woman cupped her face, pressed her fingertips to Emma’s pulse-points and she had never felt so damned _alive_.

When Regina dragged Emma’s hand into her blouse she meant it this time, not for any other reason than she wanted Emma there, needed her, and Emma’s hissed gratification made Regina smirk, press harder with her tongue. Mouths danced and it was mutual and equal and who knew who moaned first - Regina or Emma? – Neither cared, just pushed harder, curved into each other like a bow and string turned endlessly, aimed always at _This Is It - This is what we shot for._

Emma tugged Regina’s blouse from the waistband of her skirt, didn’t know how it had stayed there so long, it didn’t matter now because her fingers traced along smooth skin and well-defined muscle until she grazed the sensitive part of Regina’s ribs, the part that made her jerk and twitch, and jolt away only to move back into her hand, harder.

Regina’s knee moved between Emma’s legs because she was daring and needy, had nothing to prove other than she wanted Emma, wanted her heedless and bucking, wanted her speechless, wanted her thoughtless after all the work the blonde had put into _this_. She got it when Emma pressed into her, thin denim threaded her fragile hose but Regina didn’t give a damn, pulled Emma’s hips to ride her, Regina cocked her knee and pushed tightly against the ridged seam between Emma’s thighs.

Emma laced her fingers at Regina’s nape beneath her thick hair, hung her face and tried not to pant too loudly, to moan indelicately but she couldn’t help it, dropped her mouth to Regina’s collarbone and bit there to silence herself, sucked the delicate skin, left marks she was proud of. Regina’s palms on Emma’s hips, nails dug into the muscle of her ass; Regina set a determined rhythm, a rising, inexorable tide that had Emma half undone before her sharp teeth bit the sensitive flesh of Emma’s earlobe, before Regina’s tongue lathed across the whorls of her ear and then her voice poured in; ‘ _Emma, Emma’_ \-- rumbled and buzzed like bees; ‘ _Emma’_ – sweet and thick like honey – ‘ _Emma, come for me…’_

Emma hadn’t expected it to be that easy, to happen so quickly just with the rise of Regina’s thigh but she found herself shaking, head tipped back and a guttural moan torn from her throat. It left her breathless and weak, fingers clawed to Regina’s silk shoulder and satin breast, Emma’s body bent into the commanding arch of her. It had built up fast but Emma came down slow, floated against Regina, against the husked laughter in her chest; Emma tasted it and felt no shame, only shared amusement and an element of guile. Emma kissed the mirth from Regina’s mouth lazily in fits and starts, lulled her into a false sense of recovery.

It didn’t take Emma long. She was only partially sated, muscles reconvened over the prospect of leading this woman to places where words had no meaning, where sound was a thing felt and skin was just a place where the nerve endings showed. Emma grinned to herself, pale teeth between thin, curved lips; looked up at Regina and warned her with sudden storm-green eyes that a tempest approached.

Regina got the message, mouth a lighthouse operator who ascended curved stairs, eyes a red-hot filament burn that flashed across Emma’s skin. Emma tucked her hand around the thigh that had fallen from between hers and moved it aside, stepped into the bracket. She cupped Regina’s face, pulled her mouth up for a languid kiss. Emma’s tongue lathed promises, traced white teeth and the red outline of Regina’s lips, repeated the circuit until Regina whimpered, couldn’t help her noises any more than she could help the way she stumbled when Emma suddenly pulled away.

Emma smiled at her, head tilted; evaluated, almost predatory except Emma never pulled that off as convincingly as Regina, far too captivated by olive skin, too openly enthralled by the woman Regina was. Still, Emma openly planned to devour her. She picked up Regina as easily as a light-hearted thing, forest eyes locked with brown and Regina twisted her hands in blonde hair, kissed her, legs twined around her waist. Emma relied on her peripheral vision to carry Regina back to the sidetable, because it was safe and unsullied and she didn’t think Regina needed a reminder of throne or footstool just yet.

She let the brunette down haphazardly, grey skirt hiked over Regina’s hips, garter on full display, the black satin triangle of her panties beckoned as Emma spread her knees wider. “Keep your eyes on me,” she ordered, something that would’ve happened anyway - but a defiant flash met Emma’s cocky grin and it was the challenge she’d been looking for. Anything to keep Regina’s focus on her, anything to keep her present in this moment. Anything to keep this exquisite body open.

Emma stepped between Regina’s knees, short nails traced over her ruined stockings, up over the lace cage of her inner thighs. She rested her thumbs in the dips of skin and tendon beside satin, fingers splayed on the bunched fabric at Regina’s hips, held her possessively while Regina’s fingers combed into Emma’s hair. Regina pulled Emma’s face up to kiss her, long and languid, fervent; with rising desperation as Emma’s thumbs drew circles on her panties, closer and closer to where Regina needed her.

Regina wanted more of Emma’s skin, gambled on a sure bet that Emma would return to her ministrations as she tugged on the grey singlet. Emma’s arms rose to assist but as Regina threw the balled cotton away, yes, _yes_ , they returned right back to where Emma had been. Regina kissed her again, all tongue and determination, nails skated across the smooth flesh now available to her. Regina dug in when Emma pulled at the waist of her panties and dragged them down, until they caught in the clasps of her garter.

It gave Emma enough room to manoeuvre, not quite willing to give up this whole outfit yet, and Emma held tightly to Regina’s hip and ass with one hand, while the fingers of her other trailed lightly against the wet-hot welcome home of Regina’s cunt. Regina moaned into her mouth, Emma breathed the halted breaths of her as she stroked with two fingers, never touched anything pertinent, teased the edges of Regina’s hardened need, enjoyed the slick silk softness of her body.

Regina’s hips moved of their own volition, thrust and rolled in an attempt to drive Emma’s hand to where she wanted it but Emma kept control, peppered Regina’s mouth and tongue with lazy kisses; slipped teasingly, painfully closer. When she finally circled tight muscle, dipped just inside, Regina’s hips jerked, tried to force her deeper, nails clawed at her elbow but Emma smiled against her lips, drank the growled frustration and her fingers slid away again.

A firm, knowing touch on Regina’s clit made it all worth it.

Regina’s head fell back, a moan and sigh mingled in the long breath that exited her orchestral mouth, Emma’s lips and teeth and tongue against the cartilage frets of her throat. Emma increased pressure with her hand, built it gradually over the hard nerves between Regina’s thighs; she circled and stroked, allegretto, allegrissimo, ever faster and harder to draw out Regina’s voice. Regina pitched _Fuck_ , begged Emma _Don’t stop_ ; the panted, breathless sounds - Emma’s fingers strummed long and furious at Regina’s clit until swearing caught in Regina’s clenched teeth and Regina shuddered, hands planted on the sidetable to hold up her quaking body; Emma played harder and Regina’s thighs quavered around her, jolted and when she came, it was all breathed and begging.

Emma wrapped one arm around Regina’s bowed back, slowed her fingers into small circles, drew out Regina’s gasped shaking; kissed over the hollows of her throat and flushed chest into the roiling valley of her breasts and stayed there. As Regina’s lungs slowed from frantic billowing, Emma’s hand moved again, two fingers slid through a current of wetness to the mouth of a great river, pushed inside Regina, thick and full and raging.

Regina keened, fingers knotted in Emma’s hair, one stockinged calf wrapped around the backs of Emma’s denim knees; her stiletto heel scraped painfully against Emma’s leg but Emma didn’t care, pushed harder, deeper into Regina’s body, tongue trailed along the satin edge of her bra, mouth moved over silk until she found the puckered nipple that strained through Regina’s clothing, pleaded for the teeth Emma latched to it.

Emma rolled her wrist, pressed another finger against the taut muscle between Regina’s fervid thighs, added it with her next thrust and her name tore from Regina’s cathedral throat. Regina’s feverish limbs fought for purchase on the table and Emma’s body, hips rose disjointedly to meet her thrusts until Emma forced her back with a firm hand against bone and never lost her rhythm, three-knuckles deep in Regina’s ever-tightening wetness.

Emma curved her fingers, pressed up against ridges and contracting walls, torn between wanting to drag this feeling out and wanting to make Regina come now so it could start all over again. When Regina’s cries grew ragged and wild around her, Emma knew she was close and her second choice won out -- Emma pushed harder, drove Regina to the edge, fingers wedged and curled and she swiped her thumb against the over-sensitive nerves of Regina’s clit. The brunette lost all cohesion, came apart under Emma’s hands, collapsed into a boneless break of half-worded cries and siren-esque pleading.

Emma tried to keep going even as Regina reached desperately for her wrist, dug crescent moons into her skin – Emma never wanted to leave the flushed-sunset horizon of Regina’s body. But eventually she relented, mouthed the outline of Regina’s ribs and stomach through her loose silk blouse, dropped her head against Regina’s wantonly splayed thigh and drew her fingers out slowly, so slowly from their velvet prison to the sound of Regina’s hissed sigh.

Emma slipped the digits immediately into her mouth, Regina’s flavour rolled on her tongue, the piquant viscosity of her. The taste drew Emma’s rumbled moan, eyes closed as she savoured every tart, sticky piece and she felt Regina’s heavy gaze burn her skin, made a show of it; tongue swirled around her damp palm, her long fingers. Emma sucked them into her mouth and it stole Regina’s breath away, rolled out of Regina again into a low chuckle.

“You, Emma Swan, are _exquisite_ ,” Regina rasped, finger tucked under Emma’s dimpled chin.

“And you are _delicious_ ,” Emma replied. She moved to prove her point; kissed Regina’s languorous mouth, shared this uniquely addictive prize. Regina took every trace of herself from Emma’s lips and tongue, her fingers threaded loosely in blonde hair.

Regina leant back against the stone wall behind her, a tilted angle. Her hip and elbow started to ache from the hard wood of the table, discomfort she hadn’t cared about or noticed moments before as Emma worked her body weightless. Now, she shifted stiffly against dark veneer, and Emma smiled at her, carefully attuned. Emma ducked down and scooped up precious parts of Regina’s body, lifted her by trapped knees and under arms that fought and slapped at her; the high-pitched, clamoured protests Emma ignored.

Emma carried Regina as though crossing a threshold, and while Regina seemed far from happy about it, her arms fell around Emma’s neck; a dark storm cloud secretly complicit with this careless strength. Emma lowered Regina carefully to the thick white-and-black rug with its accents of crimson. The regal woman _harrumphed_ , arms crossed as soon as she let go of Emma’s shoulders.

“You will stop carrying me around like I’m some waifish damsel,” Regina commanded blackly. “I’m perfectly capable of moving myself.”

“Shut up you love it,” Emma dismissed, and collapsed down next to her. She lay on her back, boots crossed at the ankle, fingers laced behind her head as though an open sky spread above her rather than the dank ceiling of this vault.

Regina nearly snapped, _I most certainly do not_ – but that was partly a lie, so she steeled her jaw against it. Instead Regina bristled a moment longer, before she gave in and joined Emma repose on the soft rug. Her bundled skirt with its twisted zipper dug into her lower back, and Regina rolled onto her hip, struggled to free herself; wriggled and squirmed her way out with less grace than she’d hoped for.

Emma watched with interest, mischief danced in emerald eyes. “Round three already, Madame Mills?”

Regina huffed at her; toed off her heels and pulled her black satin underwear pointedly into place. “I don’t think so, _Miss Swan_. You’re being a rogue.”

“You love it,” Emma said again, and pulled Regina in against her body with one arm, tucked stiffly against her side.

It didn’t take long before Regina relaxed into her, arm across Emma’s bare stomach, fingers traced idly along the scalloped lace of her bra. They lay like that for a while, quietly breathing; Regina’s head on Emma’s shoulder, Emma’s hand still tucked under her own skull. Every now and then Emma’s heavy eyelids slid shut, and she knew from Regina’s slowed breathing that hers did the same. It was peaceful here, comfortable; the reassuring warmth of Regina’s presence lulled against her side.

“I didn’t…” Regina stopped, voice thick with the tendrils of sleep. She cleared her throat, debated whether to finish her sentence or if she should leave this moment exactly as it was - perfect and unmarred. But they’d come far this afternoon, this evening, and Regina needed to say one last thing, one last admission before she could leave the past, and what had happened in this room, somewhat behind. Regina knew more than most that the past was actually inescapable, but hoped maybe this would make the halls echo a little less, at least for a while.

“I didn’t always have a… _choice_ when I was younger,” Regina said, gaze fixed on the patterns her fingertips made against the red lace on Emma’s breast. She felt Emma’s eyes on her but wouldn’t look up. “There are things you do - for duty, for power, things you do to become a Queen…” Regina scoffed at her own term, mirthless.

Power was the thing her mother had trained her for, but any and all debasement along the way, debasement that continued in the hands of men that never loved her - that was something Cora would not talk about. _Duty_ , she’d waved off. Always _duty._

“There are things you give up, parts of your… body…” Regina bit her lip, closed her eyes fiercely and held her breath until nothing could touch her, nothing but Emma’s arm wrapped around her, nothing but Emma’s controlled breath and elevated heartbeat beneath Regina’s ear.

Emma swallowed thickly against the bile that rose in her throat, forced her body still despite waves of crashed anger, wanted to let Regina speak without interruption from the swearing that rolled on her tongue. _I would kill every one of them, if they weren’t already dead._

“I suppose it twisted things. There was a lot I didn’t understand. What I did to Graham - taking his heart, manipulating him, controlling him into—” Regina stopped herself again, shook her head against it, against the truth and the words, this bitter reality, against Emma’s stiffened body. “I swore I’d never do that again, Emma. But I did it to you here.”

Emma let it hang monstrously over them, silent and filthy – not because she agreed with Regina’s guilt, still knew without a doubt that a mixture of Curse and her own willingness had shaped those events. But Emma said nothing because she couldn’t trust her own mouth not to spew forth a stream of invective against Cora and Leopold, and whoever else had broken Regina this way.

Emma had cared for Graham, and what Regina had done was wrong; killing him was unforgiveable but Emma had already accepted that as a part of a Regina who didn’t really exist anymore. And this, this cloistered confession threw light on a darkness Emma was almost starting to understand, something about Regina that had been forged and beaten into her very mettle.

Emma turned her head and kissed Regina’s hair, spread across the lighter paper of Emma’s skin, ink painted on her body. “Regina, you can’t control me. I mean, nobody can take my heart – not even you,” she murmured, words carefully regulated. “So yeah, you’ve done some shitty things, but not to me, not like that, not in this place and nothing we can’t get over.”

Emma waited for Regina to stiffen, to pull away, to argue with her but none of that happened, more of a shivered melt into her side and so she held Regina tighter. “My actions were my choice, and if it happened again the only thing I’d do differently is not come here, and that’s only because I know it hurt you. That’s something we both have to deal with, because I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me for good, Regina. Nothing is gonna change that.”

Regina’s tears were silent, strained and gulped but Emma felt them on her ribs, warm drops that pooled for a long time. She stroked Regina’s back in idle patterns, kissed her head occasionally but otherwise just stared at the ceiling, at the shadows and shapes that twirled there, revealed and raced away again in the flickered candlelight.

Finally, incrementally, Regina’s body relaxed; her breathing evened out and Emma’s skin started to dry.

As Regina slept, Emma found herself garishly awake, a live-wire of nervous energy. So much had happened, so much had been started and ended in this place, and the page Henry gave her now pressed sharply into Emma’s butt cheek through her jeans. Emma shifted her hips against it and Regina grumbled without waking; rolled away onto her side and Emma extricated her arm without disturbing her too much.

Emma pulled the paper from her pocket and sat up, fiddled with its creases, looked over at a softly snoring Regina and grinned.

_Henry said she had to be here when I looked, he didn’t say she had to be awake…_

Emma pulled open the page like a kid at Christmas hidden beneath the tree. She tilted it into the light… Bit her lip against the startled sound that pitched in her throat. It was a painted scene like any other in Henry’s Storybook, a rich panel of broad strokes and rough outlines, darkly-coloured and depicting an old, magical world.

But _Emma_ was there.

Or at least, someone who was so similar to her that Emma could only presume she was looking at an image of herself. She was dressed differently - of course she was, this was some Enchanted Forest bullshit; long hair pulled back into a tight ponytail that curled over her shoulder, almost obscured the decorative, clearly royal insignia emblazoned on her chest, all crowns and crest and rampant mythical creatures.

The armour she wore – Emma presumed it was armour – seemed dressy yet utilitarian, mostly white with splashes of blue and red. Her gloves were black with flashed bands of metal, matched her one visible boot, partially obscured by the long sword she leant on almost casually, palm around the pommel. A deep-purple stone was embedded in its hilt.

Emma’s free arm was draped over the back of a throne, and in that throne was Queen Regina. Not an Evil Queen – not tightly drawn and pale, nothing vicious or tainted about her. This was a Queen of gently regal bearing, in a jewelled bustiere and leather riding pants tucked into laced boots that matched the blues and reds of Emma’s armour, covered with a stunningly fitted long-coat in deep red, which tumbled around her legs like a gown.

There were so many jewels around Regina’s throat and in her precisely coiffed hair that Emma wondered how she kept her head up, let alone smiled so easily and magnificently. This Regina looked goddamn _happy_ , and while the Emma at her side seemed stern, she seemed also somehow… content. But it was the smallest detail of the image that really hit Emma.

One of the Queen’s hands rested simply on the wide arm of her throne, but the other reached up, bent lazily over her body. It met Emma’s hand at the top of the throne, held in a way that suggested more than a casual connection - their fingers entwined, gripped tightly. Emma checked the title plate painted at the bottom of the page. _The Queen and Her Savior_.

Emma almost crumpled the paper. She dropped it hurriedly and sprang to her feet, paced the floor as if the stone was lava, avoided the rug and Regina’s sleeping body at all costs.

_The Fuck? Where did the kid find this thing? What did… Oh shit._

Emma dragged her fingers through her hair, eyes darted over everything and nothing, head tipped back. What the hell did Henry see in this?

_What does he think is happening here?_

Emma didn’t know what to make of it, couldn’t think clearly, a deluge of contextless information and tangled emotions churned in her stomach, roiled beneath her ribs.

Every time Emma thought she had a handle on this _whatever_ that was forming between her and Regina, another thing tossed a goddamn chainsaw into the works. Which didn’t mean the page was a bad thing – Emma really didn’t understand what it meant or how she felt about it yet – but if Henry had been sitting on this thing since at least Ingrid’s Curse, then…

_Then what? What did Henry get from this thing?_

To Emma, it seemed pretty unambiguous – the way their hands were clasped, the title that marked Emma as ‘ _Her’ Savior_ … Henry was not stupid, and more than that, he seemed genetically predisposed to Mary Margaret’s romantic ideas of Fate and True Love and Happily Ever fucking Afters. In her bedroom earlier, Henry had stuck with Emma’s party line about her and Regina wanting to be ‘friends’, but who knew what the kid really believed?

Emma scratched at the itch that had started at the back of her neck and moved quickly to engulf her whole body. She had to get out of here. She had to do something, go somewhere, see… She didn’t know who. No one, maybe. Definitely not Henry, not before she’d talked to Regina, and she couldn’t do that now because Regina was asleep and Emma didn’t know what to say or think, and besides, Regina was all garter belt and torn hose, pulled up blouse and excruciatingly enticing skin and there was no way Emma could form an intelligent thought around that.

_I need to run._

Emma didn’t mean _away_ , just that she needed to run -- needed to move her limbs and get her blood pumping, with nothing in her ears but the soughing wind as she pounded her way through it.

Emma retrieved the discarded page; crossed to the small sidetable she’d taken Regina on and pulled open the draw at its front. She looked for a pen, but all she found was a quill - easily the most ridiculous thing she had ever used to write a note like this before, and she’d once scribbled a _Goodbye_ in a pink lip gloss.

But this wasn’t goodbye, not even close. Emma spat into the dried inkpot the way she’d seen Gold do, scrawled in the margin of Henry’s stupid page:

_R, Not running away, just running an errand. Don’t freak out. What do you make of this thing? It’s from Henry. Meet you later. x Emma._

Emma surveyed her handiwork, shrugged one shoulder and crossed back to Regina’s unconscious form. She put the page down next to Regina where she’d be sure to see it; kissed her curved shoulder and quietly made her escape from the vault.

The air was icy cold when Emma re-emerged, the sky dark and spattered with stars. She had a gym bag in the back of her Bug, pulled out a lightweight hooded jacket and zipped it over her bare torso before she fished out compression tights and sneakers. Emma shivered into them, jumped for a little while on the spot to warm her muscles, and then she started to run.

Emma wondered how far she would have to go before everything fell back into place.

*****


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"A smile crept across Regina’s mouth. She tongued a kiss-bitten lip; her body ached and twinged, recently sated but ready for more. Waking up next to the blonde was a habit Regina wanted to lose herself in._
> 
> _Except, Emma was currently missing..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is **explicit**. (Most of them will be from now on. You're welcome?) 
> 
> Things are winding down, beautiful creatures. Just a couple more twists to go. Viva la SwanQueen!

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_27\. [ I wish… ]_ **

The answer was: _Not very far_.

The chill night grazed Emma’s flushed cheeks with its knuckles; her mouth tasted of Regina, sweat laced with the brunette’s scent and the world grew progressively murkier, each footfall twisted her bones like she ran in the wrong direction. Seventeen minutes and not enough miles into Emma’s usual sprint regime, and her only urge was to turn around and race back.

Henry’s page seemed less and less detrimental, and no matter what the kid had in mind, Emma already knew it couldn’t be fixed on her own. All she wanted was to collapse into Regina and figure it all out in the morning. Plus Emma had started to realise that despite her note, if Regina woke up and found her gone, her absence would paint her a liar. She’d worked too hard to fuck things up so carelessly.

_Emma, you goddamn, monumental, idiot._

She pushed on through a copse of tall pine trees until their spires relinquished an uninterrupted sky; slowed to a jog and pulled her phone from her pocket. Emma sank puffing onto an old log, and on her illuminated screen a single, sketchy signal bar showed. It was the prettiest set of pixels she’d ever seen.

Emma ignored her unread messages and wrote to Regina:

                ‘ _Done here. On my way back. If you’re awake we should talk about Henry’s thing.’_

She pressed send, then quirked an eyebrow and smirked to herself, typed:

                ‘ _You were too hot for me to think so please put on every item of clothing you have and a coat and maybe wrap yourself in tape and try not to look at me because the hot thing isn’t going away.'_

As her texts slowly went through, Emma tightened her ponytail, pulled up her hood to protect her ears from the cold and fiddled with her zipper. Finally, reluctantly, she checked her inbox.

The messages were all from Mary Margaret, variations on a theme – ‘ _Hey, where’d you go?’_ , and ‘ _What are you doing?’_ , and ‘ _Do you want to have coffee with…’_ ; until her tone became more of a frantic repeat of questions about Belle, who had apparently missed their date at the Library – ‘ _Have you seen her?’_ and ‘ _I’m worried...’_

Emma stared at the screen, bit her lip. She had more than a sneaking suspicion about Belle’s whereabouts, but absolutely no inclination to check. Then her phone buzzed again, and while Emma’s chest fluttered _Regina_ , the reality was her mother, a panicked:

                ‘ _No sign of Belle anywhere in town. Emma, where are you?!’_

Emma rubbed at the sheen of salt that had dried stiffly to her face, debated ignoring the whole thing; raged against the Charming family mantle passed down through her veins. Finally, she responded:

                ‘ _I’m on it.’_

Then, to Regina:

                ‘ _Small detour, hero stuff or whatever. Shouldn’t take long. I miss you x’_

For a second Emma wanted to dive into her phone to retrieve her last line, but the text was gone and the words were not untrue -- she missed Regina like a limb, like a breath, like a home. Emma would stand by the sentiment, even though it embarrassed her to admit it.

She pushed herself up, stretched into the muscles stiffened from her extended pause and zipped her phone back into her jacket. She accelerated to a steady jog and made her way towards the Town Line, further and further from where she actually wanted to be.

*

Emma heard Belle before she saw her; loud crying, the kind that came with reckless tears and wailed sobs, all snot and ugly, contorted expressions. The kind no one really wanted another person to see.

Emma slowed her approach, made purposeful noise on the asphalt, slapped sneakers and unnecessary coughing. Emma bent over, head hung and hands on her knees, made a show of catching her breath to give Belle time to wipe her face on the thick sleeves of her jacket. When she finally approached, Belle had wrangled herself to hiccupped gulps and quietly flowing grief.

Emma sank down beside her, echoed her position - knees pulled to her chest, arms around her shins. Emma had no idea what to say, uncomfortable with the whole situation. They were family by default, but she’d never had time to get to know Belle, and while optimism was one thing, the kind of blind positivity it took for this woman to find goodness in someone like Gold was absolutely foreign to Emma.

_This coming from someone who lov— who cares for the former Evil Queen…_

So Emma conceded they might have more in common than she’d allowed. But it didn’t make conversation any easier. She pulled her phone from her pocket again, messaged Mary Margaret:

                 _‘Found her.’_

“Did your mother send you?” Belle croaked, and wiped her cheeks again.

Emma placed the handset down on the road beside her. “She was worried when you didn’t turn up.”

Belle dropped her chin to her knees, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond Storybrooke’s painted-on border. “I should have called her, it’s just… I didn’t know what to say...”

Emma nodded, hunched tighter around her bent legs. “I think she gets that.”

Silence was thick and heavy, sea-drenched from Belle’s shuddered crying. Emma scratched her elbow, tried not to fidget but this wasn’t really the place for her.

“He’s gone, Emma,” Belle whispered haggardly. “I forced him over the line. Rumpel is never coming back.”

This time Belle wept loudly, uncontrolled; desolation rose from the foetid oubliette she’d tumbled into. She fell sideways against Emma, buried her face in Emma’s stiffened shoulder and drowned them both in tears. Emma put an arm awkwardly around Belle, eyed her phone, the black night, wished someone would stumble across them here in the middle of nowhere, someone who had any fucking idea what to do.

“I wish I’d never gotten my memories back,” Belle heaved against Emma’s hoodie. “I wish I’d never remembered how much I love him...”

Emma shushed her mindlessly, rubbed her back; had never been so ecstatic to see her phone light up as she was just then. She squeezed Belle’s shoulder, nudged her upright. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

Emma all but bolted away, answered the call while still at a jog. “I need you to be here _now_.”

“Emma?” Mary Margaret’s voice crackled on the line, pitched with concern. “Where are you? Is Belle ok?”

“No, she’s not,” Emma hissed, a fierce whisper, “she’s broken and crying and _I don’t know what to do in this situation._ ”

Silence-- Emma worried the call had dropped out. But then her mother’s voice returned, edged with consternation and a wry humour Emma didn’t appreciate. “Well did you try comforting her? Maybe hugging her and saying nice things? Try telling her—”

“You try telling her,” Emma snapped, struggled to maintain hushed tones. “Hope speeches are your thing, not mine. We’re at the Town Line, would you please come get her?”

“I guess I could send David…” A suspicious beat before Mary Margaret asked, “Where’s your car? How’d you get out there? Where were you anyway? What have you been doing all day?”

“ _Seriously_?” Emma rubbed her creased brow, eyes scrunched against her mother’s bombardment and a headache rolled in like a curse. “I was jogging, Mom. Regina and I researched Gold’s hat-- Does it matter? Can you just come get her?”

Mary Margaret sighed down the line. “David’s leaving now. Oh – hang on, Henry wants to talk—”

“Sorry Mom gotta go Belle’s sad.” Emma hung up. She felt immediately guilty, a twisted wrench to the tremulous beat of her heart - Emma had ducked her son. She was a terrible person.

That feeling persisted as Emma put off returning to Belle -- the woman quaked and shook, huddled on the blank road. It wasn’t that Emma didn’t care how Belle felt, of course she cared, and she could kind of sympathise it was just… Emma knew her limitations. There were things she was good at, and holding together Belle’s fragile sensibilities was not one of them.

Emma had traversed Regina’s landmine-laced fields of implosion with a modicum of grace, and that was a freaking miracle. It was not something she usually accomplished, but with Regina it was like their languages overlapped, bound them together -- Regina made sense to her. It was worth the effort, and with Henry too, and mostly with her parents… But if Emma could palm-off Belle she would.

Emma whined under her breath, dropped her head back into her shoulders and pouted up at the sky. It was childish but she didn’t care. She dialled Regina, wanted to let her know there was nothing deliberate about her delay - maybe also to hear her voice. The phone rang and rang until it rang out, no option for voicemail; Emma re-dialled but it rang out again. Finally she admitted defeat, steeled her shoulders and gritted her teeth against the place where grief hung so thickly.

Emma dragged her feet as she dawdled back. She folded herself down beside Belle and the crying woman curled damply into her.

Emma hoped David would get there soon.

*

A persistent buzzing, faint and angry on the frayed edges of sleep. Regina groaned; rolled over and reached for her bedside table - found herself against a cold, hard floor. Confused, she opened bleary eyes.

It took Regina a moment to comprehend where she was, another as her most-recent past rushed back - it explained her loose bra and twisted blouse, the garters and hose that made for her sleepwear, the thick rug she had passed out on. A smile crept across Regina’s mouth. She tongued a kiss-bitten lip; her body ached and twinged, recently sated but ready for more. Waking up next to the blonde was a habit Regina wanted to lose herself in.

Except, Emma was currently missing.

Regina propped her ear on her hand, called, “Emma?”

The name echoed through the room, bounced out into the hall. Regina furrowed her brow, sat up slowly, spine rigid. “EMMA?”

 Nothing.

Panic wisped like a blade across Regina’s ribs, a cold trickle of fear bled after. She tilted her head for any sound, any hint Emma was nearby, nervously snatched up her skirt.

_This is it. She left you._

Regina refused the thought, refused to believe -- not now, not after the everything they had poured into each other. She struggled slim hips into tight fabric, padded quickly to the curved doorway. The stone was cold under her bare feet. “EMMA?”

Her voice ricocheted off stonework, knelled bleakly back. Regina’s nails gripped the quoined archway. She fractured.

_She’s not here. She left._

_Emma left you._

Knotted fibres in Regina’s throat, dirt in her lungs, thick sand in her ears. Emma had promised, Regina had given her everything because Emma had sworn it was safe with her, had said _she_ was safe. Emma had said she was in. Emma had said she was in _for good_.

But she was not here.

_You gave her everything. She gave you a lie._

A red-hot coil twisted low in Regina’s belly, desolation swirled into fury.

She found herself in the vault’s library, wasn’t aware she’d even moved her feet, they hung like lead weights on the high-tension wires of her calves. Emma might be there, engrossed in Gold’s gilded box, simply hadn’t heard – but no, the room was empty.

Regina raged. She barely registered the mechanical chirrup of her phone – a cricket conscience; an _I told you so_. Regina knew better than to trust, knew better than to expect she would get anything more than what she deserved and yes she deserved this, the bitter emptiness that came from a heart-ripping display of callousness, from a manipulation of emotion so masterful even Cora would bow down before it.

_This is the way the world ends…_

Regina’s hands white-knuckled on the desk crumpled ancient manuscripts into ruined pieces; singed the torn edges, left blackened handprints on words now irretrievable.

_I will not go back to the way we were before. I cannot let that happen. Storybrooke is not big enough for the both of us._

Her phone beeped again – Regina reached robotically for her suit jacket slung forgotten over the low-backed chair, snatched up the device but froze with it in her hand. What if Emma used this ridiculous technology to say goodbye? A single _Sorry_ followed by pithy emoticons -- What if that was all this pain was worth to her? Or perhaps it was Henry wondering where she was, and nothing to come from Emma at all but silent avoidance.

Regina reared to throw her phone at the wall without checking it, better not to know than to face that - but her elbow would not release, still that perfidious pennant of hope lodged in her chest. Regina swiped a fuming thumb over the screen.

_Emma..._

It was all from Emma, everything -- messages and missed calls, delightful and sweet and vaguely suggestive in a way that had Regina rolling her eyes even as they burnt with tears, a bitter-hot relief that dragged over her cheeks like nails, soothed a moment later. Regina collapsed into her chair. Receiver cradled loosely in her lap, she re-read the messages again and again; the ‘ _too hot to think_ ’ and the ‘ _I miss you’_ \-- and something uncurled foolishly in her heart. She didn’t even fight it.

There was no explanation why Emma had left, what had pulled her out into the night -- Regina was still angry she hadn’t been woken, hadn’t been warned. But then she was not someone who asked permission either, rarely explained her actions or apologised even when she should. Regina couldn’t fault Emma for that. Punish her, certainly. There was a tongue-lashing in Emma’s future. Later there would be more, increasingly inventive methods. Regina’s mouth curved wickedly at its edges.

_But there is a future._

_I have to trust her, I have to trust this._

_Emma is not going anywhere._

Regina Mills was powerful, strong; capable and autonomous - no one could deny that. She had fallen apart just moments ago, and lately so often, but it seemed irreconcilable with the person she knew herself to be. This week in particular had been one of upheaval, more so than any other time in her life, more even than the week Emma Swan first came to town. There were reasons for that, a culmination that began with a sprinkling of pixie dust, or perhaps an adoption, or a curse, or a secret told and a love lost, or simply a series of events that started long before Regina was even born, sparked when an Author first put pen to paper.

She was never-the-less Regina Mills.

Maybe she was becoming more.

Certainly Regina had _gained_ more recently than she’d ever thought possible -- she wasn’t even sure anymore what was possible. From a time Regina was too young to understand what cruelty was only that often she felt it, Regina knew a path had been charted for her. She’d had no choice in that; it was decided by her mother and the monsters that stood with her, and the few times Regina had chosen things for herself they were not decisions she was allowed to keep. Viciously ripped from her or slowly whittled away, everything had been taken.

Now, there was Emma.

Emma had become a part of her, an un-cleavable part, seemingly unsusceptible to outside influences or her own inner workings though Regina had tried. Regina had tried for two years to push Emma away, tried to exclude her, to maim and diminish her, to impede her and make her disappear -- she had tried to kill her numerous times. Regina had tried not to love her.

Perhaps she’d failed.

This was who Regina was: Regina Mills was a woman filled with contradictions, driven to darkness and self-sabotage as much as she yearned for the lightness of life. Emma Swan was much the same. Next to each other, together, they became _more._ Regina forgot sometimes and that needed to stop. Emma would not let her forget. They were two individuals made stronger by their overlap.

Regina gathered up her jacket, made for the vault’s exit -- She would find Emma eventually, but Emma’s texts had mentioned they needed to talk about Henry, and now Regina stressed because perhaps she had missed something? What had happened with their son?

Gravel cut Regina’s feet before she thought about shoes but that didn’t matter – she had a spare pair of boots in the Merc in case of a heel emergency, or a sudden monster attack which required smarter footwear, because this was Storybrooke and she was Regina Mills and it paid to be prepared. Ass balanced against the side of her car, Regina pulled on her last knee-high, its black leather tight from disuse; then heard:

“REGINA?”

_Emma..._

Regina allowed the broad smile only because no one else saw it; bit it into submission before she raised her head. She straightened the decorative laces at the front of her boots, crossed her arms firmly. There would be a reckoning. Emma would think twice before leaving her like that again.

*

Emma jogged to the Merc, legs loose and tired, body uncertain. David had dropped her as close to the vault as she’d allowed, continued with his grief-stricken Belle cargo for delivery to Mary Margaret and Emma had been relieved to see both of them go. All that had mattered was getting back to Regina.

Emma rounded the car and immediately slowed. Regina was a stiffened column of sandstone, angled unimpressed against the petrol cap of her vintage vehicle. But then, Emma had expected either Regina’s absence or a quick succession of fireballs, so this was infinitely better.

Emma stopped a couple of steps from Regina because she felt it was required of her; unzipped her jacket pockets and tucked her freezing fingers into them.

“You left.” Regina’s voice was hard, eyes singed over the scant distance. “I woke up, and you weren’t there. It was… _disappointing_ , Miss Swan.”

Despite her tone, Emma could tell from the slight redness around Regina’s eyes, the stiffness of her jaw that she actually meant Emma had hurt her. Probably badly.

_Emma, you fucking idiot…_

Her only respite lay in the fact that Regina seemed intent on being untouched by hurt now, focused instead on an anger that crackled just beneath her skin. Emma took a step forward, daring. “I’m sorry, it’s just—I left you a note...” Emma’s voice pitched high, placating.

“You sent me a _text_ ,” Regina snapped. “I’d hardly call that anything as cordial as a note, and in no way does it excuse the fact that you did not have the curtesy to tell me you were leaving.”

Emma frowned, head tilted. “No, I left you a note on Henry’s page – you didn’t see that?”

The finger Regina was about to jab at Emma’s chest wavered. “What page?”

 _Shit._ Emma was relieved she’d sent texts - this could’ve been much, much worse. “Henry gave me that Page he found, the Operation Mongoose thing. It’s… never mind. I’ll show you later.” She’d thrown Regina off-balance, and Emma took advantage of that, stepped closer. “Where were you going?”

“To check on Henry,” Regina glared, coming back to herself despite Emma’s suddenly breachable proximity. “Your text mentioned him and I was worried.”

“Not coming to find me?” Emma asked, low and gravelled, and slid nearer to Regina’s skin.

Emma’s pupils, already dilated against the low sheen of the moon and the Merc’s small interior light, coasted now against a thin band of dark green. Regina swallowed heavily, gritted her teeth, determined to stay mad at Emma for what she had done. “You left me curled on a rug like some stray dog. Now you think I’d come chasing through the woods after you?” Narrowed eyes flashed, and Regina’s red sneer almost touched Emma’s tongue as it darted out to wet her lips. “I don’t think so, Emma. Clearly we both have better places to be.”

“Don’t be mad,” Emma breathed, and it caressed Regina’s lipstick. “I just needed some air.” Emma put a hand beside Regina’s head on the Merc’s passenger window, the other splayed on the glossy black trunk. “Mary Margaret asked me to check on Belle, but this is the only place I wanted to be.”

Regina’s head pressed against cold metal, her chest rose and fell erratically beneath her crossed arms; heat flooded her body, pooled between her legs, beat back the chill of the night and made it harder and harder to stay angry. When Emma’s mouth brushed her ear, Regina shivered, tried to pretend it was revulsion. “Get off me – you’re all sweaty.”

“Yup.” Emma burrowed closer, tongued Regina’s jaw, slid down the graceful column of her neck; teeth grazed, mouth sucked gently.

Regina’s voice vibrated a quiet accusation against Emma’s lips. “You ran.”

“Just to stretch my legs,” Emma assured her against tight tendons, kissed her a delicate apology. “I couldn’t sleep. If I’d stayed…” Emma let go of the trunk, slid her hand over Regina’s knee, up under her tight skirt, slowly along her inner thigh. “…You wouldn’t’ve slept either.”

Regina’s mouth opened slackly, a low moan and her rolled hips betrayed her when she said, “Unhand me, Miss Swan.”

Emma chuckled, traced the dampened satin between Regina’s thighs. “I was thinking we should give Gold’s hat-thingy to Belle. Researching it might be a good distraction for her.” Emma’s fingertips slid into Regina’s panties, a determined stroke through begged wetness and Regina’s hips shuddered.

Regina did not want to think about Belle. She wanted to stay angry, wanted to punish Emma for the hurt and terror but couldn’t remember why anymore. She lifted her hips, tilted to Emma’s hand. “No more talking,” she commanded, and claimed Emma’s insolent mouth.

Regina’s kiss bruised Emma’s lips, fierce and forceful, fingers pulled tightly in her messy blonde ponytail. Emma let Regina have that, while she took control lower, first gentle with Regina’s still-sensitive clit, rougher with the slick entrance that gave way to two of Emma’s long fingers. It wasn’t a great angle, Regina on her toes, hips arched from the car but Emma would make it work. She gripped the edge of the Merc’s roof, braced herself with her shoulder, used her knee for leverage as she curved deeper into Regina’s body.

Regina’s mouth and tongue and teeth were desperate, hands clutched at Emma’s neck, her shoulders, nails dug through the thin fabric of Emma’s hoodie. Regina trailed fire down Emma’s back, over the shiny spandex compression of her ass and Emma stroked faster, harder into molten heat, liquid fire, into the perfect audacity of Regina’s rocked hips.

Regina’s fingers dragged over Emma’s leg, reached for the perfect angle between Emma’s thighs and Emma nearly lost her grip on the car, on Regina, on reality. Emma moaned raggedly, billowed fog as Regina’s mouth tore from hers, bit at her throat, lathed the marks with her lavish tongue.

Emma thrust with her whole body, fingers curled inside Regina, palm against her clit and each time she pulled back, Regina’s fingers rubbed against her, just enough pressure that Emma began to shake. Her blonde head fell forward, bicep burnt as she forced it on; Regina’s teeth stung at Emma’s shoulder, her deft fingers honed on the slickest parts of Emma, unimpeded by her running clothes, a masterful  movement that took Emma’s breath away.

Unintelligible words and curses drifted into Emma’s ears, plumed around them as Emma fucked Regina, was equally dragged higher and Regina’s legs started to quake, gave way as Emma rolled her wrist and Regina came suddenly, frenetically. Emma leant into her, rode the roiled clench inside Regina with a ragged hand, held Regina to the car with her body weight as she jerked and shuddered against Regina’s fingers into her own oblivion. Regina’s hand never faltered, cupped against her as Emma came apart.

Emma held Regina then as she was interminably held, caressed Regina’s sex like a precious thing, enjoyed the lazy stroke of Regina’s knuckles against her inner thigh. Occasionally Emma kissed just beneath Regina’s ear, nuzzled her with a lazy smile, never thought this ridiculous display would be something Regina allowed but the brunette stayed there, endured it.

Secretly, Regina revelled in it. She cleared her rasped throat. “This doesn’t excuse your actions, Emma,” Regina warned - but of course it did. Body enervated, warm despite the chill, Regina had no capacity for anger. She barely remembered what mad felt like.

“Of course not,” Emma agreed, nose tucked under the curve of Regina’s jaw. “Clearly I still have to make this up to you.” Emma flexed the fingers held shallowly inside Regina, and a purred chuckle rolled down over her.

“Yes, you will.” Regina turned her head and kissed Emma, light and long; but reluctantly removed the woman’s hand. “Perhaps in a bed next time.”

“Kinky,” Emma smirked, and tucked her drying fingers back into her jacket pocket. Her lassitude was short-lived, because Emma really did have somewhere else to be. She braced herself for the return of Regina’s anger. “I’m really sorry, but I actually have to go again…”

Regina shrugged against the car, smoothed her skirt back down over her thighs. She felt none of the ire she knew Emma expected. “More hero business?” she asked dryly.

“Um, no. I mean yes, I guess—If I don’t get to the Library and show Mary Margaret I’m still alive, she’s gonna come out here looking for me and I don’t want that.”

There was nothing mock about Regina’s distaste, her narrowed eyes. “Agreed. You should go.”

Emma scrunched her nose, pouted a little. “I don’t wanna.” She gripped Regina’s hips, tugged the woman against her again. “Let’s just move. We’ll take Henry to Canada, he might like it there.”

Regina arched a regal brow, hand on Emma’s chest. “Do you think I’m the kind of person who would fit into a country known for being polite?”

Emma snorted, kissed her lightly. “New York then. Anywhere but here.”

Regina shook her head, eyes bare and honest when she quietly admitted, “This is my home. Everything I could need or want is right here.”

It made Emma smile, twisted and goofy; a glisten to her eyes, pink-flushed cheeks. Regina’s fingers balled the front of Emma’s jacket, tugged her roughly to her mouth, embarrassed by what she’d said but the kiss was open, needy, a punctuation point to the sentiment. Emma rested her forehead against dark hair for a moment when it was done, then stepped grudgingly away.

“Meet you later?” Emma asked hopefully.

Regina nodded, waited as Emma opened her driver’s side door. It seemed chivalry was not dead, simply looked very much like an action-blonde princess.

“I thought I might go and check on Henry,” Regina mentioned as she tucked herself behind the wheel. “I’d like to see him.”

“You’re more than welcome to do that...” Emma hung her arm lazily over the door. “But he and baby Neal and my father are having a ‘Boy’s Night In’, so… good luck.”

Regina grimaced. She was in no mood to face the Idiot Charming, particularly under current circumstances. He was a problem that she and Emma would have to deal with at some point. _Together_. “Maybe I’ll just call Henry…”

“Good idea. Tell the kid I love him?”

Regina nodded, smile broad. She started the Merc. “I’ll see you later?”

“You will,” Emma assured. She shut Regina’s door and tapped the roof twice, and Regina drove away.

Emma stood with her hands in her pockets, watched as taillights diminished into the dark night. At the last second, Emma remembered she’d ducked Henry’s call but at least Regina could honestly say she knew nothing about the Page. That problem could wait.

Emma turned and made her way back in to the vault. She had a hat-thingy to collect and a mother to assuage, and now a goddamned Page to find. And she should probably get her clothes – Emma owned too few of them to leave pieces strewn around all the places she and Regina fucked.

_Though there are were worse ways to lose a wardrobe._

Emma grinned to herself; climbed the stone stairs two at a time.

*****


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Emma crossed her arms over her tight black tank, shoulder fell against the door frame. She rested her head on the wood, stole this moment just to watch Regina, casual and quiet, shaded and revealed by the low light and dancing flame. She’d never looked quite so beautiful."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is **explicit**. 
> 
> It is also filled with much promised fluff. Enjoy the extensive word count - and be warned that 90% of the words are dirty, and the other 10% will rot your teeth.
> 
> Thank you all for your overwhelming kudos and comments. They are the best Christmas gifts for me.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_28\. [ That I had your strength ]_ **

These were the things Emma gained from her visit to Belle’s makeshift apartment in the Library’s converted office: A hot shower, three chocolate chip cookies as big as her head, and a long series of complaints from her mother that she and David were not a babysitting service, and perhaps she should come home every now and then - or at least check-in if she was going to be off doing _whatever it is you’ve been up to lately…_

These were the things Emma lost during her visit to said Library: Her temper, her patience, and a little of her will to live. Belle wouldn’t stop crying, testing even her mother’s unfailing optimism, and the situation was not helped by the fact Mary Margaret knew there was something Emma wasn’t telling her.

A baked-goods sugar-high could only sustain Emma for so long, and as it wore off she made her excuses and escaped. But she felt supremely guilty, the confused hurt in green eyes so similar to her own, and by the time Emma made it back to 108 Mifflin Street she was a pissed-off ball of churlishness wrapped in a soap-fresh scent.

Regina’s security light sparked as Emma slammed the gate behind her, but otherwise the mansion remained dark. She hesitated on the front porch, wondered if maybe she should just come back in the morning, after sleep and distance had worked their magic on her mood.

But Emma realised she didn’t want that. For the first time, she didn’t want to ignore things or let them fade away, didn’t want to deal with them on her own. Emma wanted a distraction, a sounding board, someone to commiserate and plot and drink with. A _lot_ of drinking. And she wanted that person to be Regina, thought that was a person Regina could be.

Emma knocked just loudly enough not to wake the neighbours. Hands pushed into the pockets of her tight blue jeans, she scuffed her brown leather boots against the tile, then paced. When there was no sound from inside, Emma knocked again, fidgeted; kicked at the base of a tall, white concrete column.

Emma exhaled a long, loud breath of irritation and reached into the pocket of the county-issue bomber jacket she’d brought with her – the only part of the Sheriff’s uniform she actually agreed with aside from the badge – and pulled out a soft leather pouch. Emma unrolled it to the glint of metal; lodged one thinly honed strip into Regina’s deadlock and had just placed the other small, curved hook against the tumblers when something clicked and the heavy wooden door opened inward. It pulled Emma off balance -- Regina gaped surprise, then pinned her with pointedly narrowed eyes.

Arms crossed, Regina waited with an arched brow as Emma struggled to remove her lock picks. Emma’s smile was sheepish, and she was relieved when Regina simply walked away from the opened door, yet clearly expected her to follow. “When you’re done violating my privacy, put your boots and jackets _neatly_ where they belong…” Regina’s voice rang through the foyer as she disappeared.

Emma did – boots on the rack by the door, socks shoved into them; her bomber and leather jackets slung over a polished ebony stand. Emma wiped her hands nervously on denim thighs, tucked her loose blonde hair behind her ears – Regina’s magazine-quality home always left her feeling too unkempt to be here. Of course, usually Regina enforced that impression, gave weight to it with her stiffly tailored clothes and pinpointed heels, and a welcome that extended only so far as her interest did.

Tonight was vastly different.

Emma found Regina curled up in a sitting room on a long leather couch in front of a slowly dying fire, a mug of something cupped absently in her hands. Her dark-navy satin robe was tied loosely at the waist, gaped to reveal a matching lace-and-satin camisole, because of course it did. A soft blanket hung carelessly across the back of the couch, seemed recently discarded and from the look of Regina’s lightly-mussed hair and her _I’m not quite awake yet_ dazed stare into the fireplace, she had been asleep here.

Emma crossed her arms over her tight black tank, shoulder dropped against the door frame. Emma rested her head on the wood, stole this moment just to watch Regina; casual and quiet, shaded and revealed by the low light and dancing flame. Regina had removed all her make-up, not just worn it away through sleep or touch, and Emma thought she’d never looked quite so beautiful. It floored her.

“You were breaking into my house,” Regina creaked across the silence, and sipped from her mug.

“I was worried,” Emma hedged. She relented, pushed upright and admitted, “Actually I was pissed – not at you. But I was freezing my tits out there. This was better than kicking down your door.”

Regina’s eyes were still glazed to the fire, voice distant when she said, “I’ll get you a key. I think it will save replacing locks and hinges in the future.”

Emma stiffened, frozen, wondered if Regina realised what she’d just said, what it implied, the ongoing nature and intimacy of the thing. Regina cleared her throat, seemed to swell on the couch, rigid and suddenly very present – clearly, she had.

_No takesie-backsies. I want my damned key._

“How’s Henry?” Emma asked; wandered in, voice carefully modulated - she stuck with ordinary things so the big ones could take their time.

“Good.” Regina looked up, grateful maybe; all hot-chocolate eyes and broad pink smile, the warm glow that came from their son. “Though he is thoroughly enamoured of your father,” she added sternly. “Unsurprising, given the fact that man let him eat  _pie_  for dinner, and they were still playing video games at ten o’clock on a school night.”

Emma smiled, tucked her thumbs into her back pockets. “Sounds about right.” She fidgeted, torn between losing herself in this new, strangely relaxed version of Regina, or punching something to loose the tension built up by Belle and Mary Margaret; by conversations put off with her son and with her parents. Emma nodded at Regina’s hands, ignored the concerned creases that corrugated the woman’s brow: “Any chance there’s alcohol in that?”

Regina shook her head, chin against the stoneware. “Tea. I suppose you’re welcome to raid my liquor cabinet if it’s absolutely necessary.”

It was. Emma followed Regina’s nod towards the heavy oak, squatted down to peruse the bottles through glass-and-wood doors. “Got anything in a ‘God why’d I drink that, please stop the room from spinning’ kinda vintage?”

Regina arched an eyebrow. “Bottom shelf. Anything from the back.”

Emma fished out a heavy-based bottle of something the colour of the shelf it sat on, collected two crystal-cut tumblers and made her way to the couch. “Scoot up.”

Regina’s annoyance was evident, but she folded her legs beneath herself, elbow propped on a plump nest of throw pillows. Emma sat and poured two drinks; clutched her tumbler and swung her bare feet up onto the arm of the couch, and dropped her head back into Regina’s satin lap. Emma waited for her reaction, the possible push that dumped her unceremoniously to the floor or the lecture on how as a guest, Emma should use curtesy and good manners.

Instead, Regina chose a third, perfectly disconcerting response: She stroked gentle fingers idly through Emma’s blonde hair. Something foreign fluttered beneath Emma’s ribs, and she rested her drink over it to keep the cage door closed.

“So what happened with your mother?” Regina asked, and didn’t necessarily want to know the answer any more than Emma wanted to tell her, but sensed Emma appreciated the opportunity.

Emma tested her drink and the liquor burned deliciously, rolled down her throat. It had the bite of scotch or tequila but she didn’t recognise the flavour, only that it was good, expensive. “The same. The usual. Nothing bad or anything I just—I wasn’t up for it.”

“Is Belle ok?”

“Hell no, not at all. But I gave her the box and when she wasn’t crying on it, she seemed pretty determined to do the research so that’s something I guess.” Emma drank again, held her glass loosely by the rim; dropped one arm and traced her fingertip in lazy patterns over Regina’s exposed ankle. “I can barely imagine what she’s going through right now, but at the same time I don’t… I dunno. I don’t get it.”

Regina eased long strands of gold-spun blonde from beneath Emma’s head, spread them across her thigh, fashioned Emma a crooked halo. “Don’t get how she could love Gold?”

“Yeah, that’s a start,” Emma muttered. “But it’s more...” Emma held the strong bone of Regina’s shin. “I’m just not used to losing like that.”

Behind Emma’s head, a bitter curl pinched Regina’s brow, the corner of her mouth. Emma had lost a great deal - her parents and Neal, a multitude of people and things but not in the way Belle had lost Gold; not in the way Regina had lost Daniel. She hoped Emma never had to experience that. Regina leant down, pressed her lips to Emma’s forehead. “She’ll adjust. Belle is a surprisingly resourceful woman.”

Emma cocked an eyebrow, conceded for the most part; reached into Regina’s hair without thinking and pulled her face down to catch her lips. Regina lingered there despite the taut angle of her spine; she tasted of faint orange and bittersweet tea and when Emma released her, everything went back to the way it was -- fingers in her hair, alcohol swirled in her mouth, Regina’s ankle beneath her hand, the quiet pop and fizz of the fireplace.

It was the kind of comfortable Emma rarely felt, and never like this. Never in the presence of someone she thought of as more than an acquaintance, or a drinking buddy, or a fleeting interest; now, someone who wasn’t her parents or her son.

Emma wasn’t sure what that meant. The chasm between _friend_ – something she’d scarcely had – and _lover_ , was not one she’d ever breached. Yeah, she’d had lovers who passed as friends until the minute the thing was over; or friends who’d become lovers with opportunity or necessity, or through alcohol and boredom. But Emma had never been linked to someone the way she was with Regina, never tied inextricably; had never liked a person despite all their wrongs and had never fought for something even when it might not work out the way she wanted.

Yet she was happy here. Emma was content in a way she’d never thought possible, not until recently, not until she’d learnt what it was like to have a steady home and parents that wanted you without the paycheck and a kid who thought you could do no wrong even when you did. Emma was fiercely protective of that, and didn’t know how Regina had snuck in. It was like guarding a locked door when suddenly behind you -- Velociraptor.

But maybe that was just a throwback to crenelated collars and feathers on an Evil Queen and too many _Discovery_ documentaries watched late at night with Henry. Because her skull was on Regina’s thighs, throat and belly exposed, heart bared like a trainwreck and Regina was not attacking, hadn’t shown the slightest inclination towards bared teeth or unsheathed claws or a vicious tongue. And maybe, just maybe, it was ok to feel safe here. Maybe, it was even ok to just be… Happy.

There was a complication they hadn’t dealt with yet. A lot actually, but one in particular that poked into Emma’s butt. _There’s always something…_ Emma swallowed the dregs of her drink, sat up and poured herself another as she dug into her back pocket, pulled out Henry’s folded page. Emma had found it eventually under Regina’s throne, apparently blown against the rear leg despite a lack of airflow through the room.

She was reluctant to hand it over, but she’d promised Henry and it had to be done, or she’d be side-stepping her son forever. Emma passed it to Regina without comment, stood and made her way to the fireplace, left her tumbler on the mantle between a carved marble horse and a picture of a tiny Henry, probably aged four.

Emma pulled logs from an iron grate to the sound of unfurled paper, poked the embers and re-stoked the fire at Regina’s gasped confusion, felt totally Bear Grylls by the time the flames roared. Emma stood, grabbed her glass and gulped liquor, parched. She rested her elbow against the marble overhang, said without turning: “Helluva thing, right?”

A fraught silence. Emma twisted from the fire, stared at the woman perched on the very edge of the couch, page supported loosely by her hands. “I mean, I’m no expert but it seems pretty fairytale to me. Did I miss something?” Emma swigged alcohol, ran a rough hand through her hair. “Is there… Did you wanna tell me something about this?”

In the lull, Regina was too quiet, fixated on the page. Her head jerked up suddenly, fearfully, ferociously determined when she snapped, “I had _nothing_ to do with this.”

Emma searched Regina’s face for any hint of shadow beyond what the room provided. Regina seemed genuinely surprised, both by the Page and any implication she could be responsible for it. Emma’s tension seeped away. “Ok. Then I guess the question is - what the hell is this thing? Where’d Henry find it? What’s it supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know…” Regina tucked back her hair with a white-knuckled hand. “Henry did tell me he’d found something, he said it happened at the Library, that he helped your parents with the Snow Queen’s curse and later it simply _appeared._ ”

Emma’s face, dubious when she asked, “Think the kid’s lying?”

At that, Regina’s eyes darkened, a protective fierceness to her pursed mouth. “And what do you think Henry would have to gain from that, Emma?”

She raised her hands placatingly. “I’m not saying he did Regina, I’m just not sure how this works. I mean – I know the Storybook turned up outta nowhere, but this - this was never in it, right? I mean, how could it be? This is… I don’t even know what this is.”

Regina glared at her for a moment longer, turned her eyes back to the page. She tilted her head. “It certainly paints an interesting picture.”

“You can say that again.” Emma huffed air, a piqued twist to thinned lips. She lifted her glass and drank, and her tongue burnt; the liquor finally made its way to the back of Emma’s mind and caressed warmly. “Do you think it’s time travel?”

Regina shook her head. “I don’t see how. Not that I know much about it, other than it was supposed to be impossible – But I’d say this was another life altogether.”

Emma pointed with her drink. “Something about that picture says we were not maintaining a business relationship.”

Regina chuckled wryly. “I think you might be right there.” She slid back on the couch, folded herself up once again, added, “The title plate is certainly suggestive.”

Emma narrowed green eyes, tucked an arm under the elbow that supported her glass. “Don’t get any ideas, lady. I am not about to become anybody’s pet Savior.”

Regina’s smile was wickedly curved, a possessive glint to burnt-copper eyes. “Shame. I would’ve made it worth your while.”

Surprise jerked Emma’s eyebrow, cheeks sucked to her dry tongue, the smallest grin hinted by her cocky mouth. But she shook it off – this was not a conversation for now. Later, maybe. “The big question is – what the hell did Henry make of it? I mean he’s been sitting on this thing for a while. And he’s not a stupid kid.”

Regina’s whole demeanour changed then, a rapid stiffening of muscle and bone, face ashen. Emma crossed the space quickly, tried to outrun the last sputtered spark of life.

“Hey, Regina…” Emma scootched down beside her, tumbler discarded on the floor, legs bent haphazard against the brunette’s stone body. Emma took the Page away, put her hand on Regina’s wrist. “Hey, it’s ok I mean – Henry didn’t say anything. He hasn’t acted any weirder than he usually does so maybe, maybe he didn’t see that. Maybe he just thought we were friends, maybe…” Emma stopped. She couldn’t argue for something she didn’t believe.

Emma sighed; twisted towards the fire and rested warily against Regina’s concrete side. Her hand slipped down through Regina’s fingers, laced there. “Maybe the kid’s been replaced by a pod person and we don’t ever have to have this conversation.” She nudged Regina gently. “Maybe we could talk about boarding schools in Alaska.”

Regina stayed silent, but some of her tension diffused. She dropped her head sideways onto Emma’s shoulder, dark hair tickled Emma’s cheek and Emma tilted against her.

“Henry will find out - _everything_.” It rasped from Regina’s throat, a quietly resigned anguish.

“Yeah…” Emma carelessly kissed Regina’s head. “And then my parents. And then the whole town, and probably the State because if anything can escape this town’s magical boundaries, it’s gossip.” Emma meant it as a joke, but neither of them were laughing.

It wasn’t that Emma cared who found out - she didn’t, didn’t feel a lick of shame. In fact, Emma was damned proud. This was  _Regina fucking Mills_ curled in beside her - face like a devil’s promise, body built by sin, but she was more than that. There was so much fucking depth to this woman that Emma had already sunk long past the point of re-surfacing. She was more than willing to drown.

Regina was a woman people feared, fled, misunderstood to the point of painting as a demon and yet here she was, all pyjamas and soft hair and the burrowed need for comfort. Emma had been given this massive prize, and the only thing that worried her was that someone would realise she was not a deserving recipient. But she would take down anyone who tried to take this away.

Emma’s private relationships were nobody’s damned business anyway. She hated the idea of being a topic of conversation for any reason, but if it was about this, things would quickly change -- Storybrooke’s misfit characters could have a self-righteous field day, but the minute things came out that Henry didn’t need to hear, things that Regina didn’t need to be reminded of, Emma would shut them down by any means necessary.

Mostly, Emma was pissed they weren’t going to get the chance to just _Be._ A chance to figure out what they meant to each other, how to work this properly before everyone else tried to pour their two cents in like some goddamn community fountain. But that was always going to happen. Now, it would just happen sooner.

_It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, it’s worth it._

Emma kissed Regina’s head again, squeezed their tangled fingers. “So we talk to Henry. Find out what he thinks he knows and take it from there.”

From Regina, a huffed sigh. She hated going into anything without a plan, but particularly in this situation. _I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t plan for any of this. I don’t even know where to start._ Regina subverted blind panic with a change of subject. “You were never in Henry’s Book – why would you be on a Page now?”

Surprised, Emma countered, “Yes I was. I mean, I was just a baby but I was there.”

Regina moved off Emma’s shoulder, eyed her in the fire’s light. “I’ve read that book numerous times Emma, and you are not in there.”

Eyes painted gold by flames, Emma’s face was rueful. “I was. The last couple pages, when Snow and Charming put me through that stupid tree portal.”

Regina pulled primly at the edges of her gaping robe, smoothed satin over her bent knees. “I never saw those pages.”

“Yeah, I burnt them. Henry thought he was protecting me from the Evil Queen – I mean this was ages ago,” Emma soothed. “He would’ve told you. He probably just forgot.”

Regina tried not to be hurt - the past was what it was and Henry’s fear had not been misplaced. She forced herself to relax against the sofa’s soft leather. “I suppose I never asked after the curse was broken. It still doesn’t explain anything about this Page.”

“Nope,” Emma agreed, less worried now than she was a moment ago. There was a lot going on, and it was hard to keep a magical Page high on her list of fucks to give. _Good old Storybrooke…_ “But hey, nothing about Henry’s Book makes sense, including the fact that it exists. Maybe we should just accept it and move on.”

Regina lifted a regal brow. “I hardly think that’s productive.”

“What, speculation is?” Emma angled towards her, denim knee on satin. “Why? What does it matter? We’re not in the Enchanted Forest and clearly it didn’t happen, so--”

“That’s _exactly_ why it matters!” Regina countered. “This Page, the blank Books Henry found…” A flashed realisation, a barged thought that propelled Regina’s mind to freefall. She lurched to the edge of the couch, teetered there. “Don’t you see? Emma, if this Page is from another Book, a completely different story, and there were _hundreds_ of Books in that library...”

Regina snatched up the Page and thrust it at Emma; pushed to her feet and paced the floor. “I don’t think I’m the Villain there. If the Author wrote me as something else before, a different story then maybe…” In her chest, a thunderous charge sounded; reckless hope stormed the bastille, beat at the bars around Regina’s treacherous heart. She whipped around, stood stock-still - her eyes, her voice broke like a storm. “Maybe I don’t have to be this way. Maybe he will change me. Maybe I can be… _Better_.”

“ _Regina…_ ” Her name in Emma’s mouth rumbled like a warning, whispered like a plea. Emma stood, pushed her hands into her pockets because she didn’t know what else to do with them. “Regina I don’t—”

“It’s _possible_ , Emma. We don’t know it’s not possible. It might take time to find him, maybe years but if we can, if the Author has re-written me before then maybe—”

“—Maybe _I don’t want that_.” Emma said it to the floor, almost mumbled. Regina heard though, paused in Emma’s peripheral vision, a tightly tethered tornado. Emma rushed on, knew she had to explain herself before Regina exploded. “Maybe we find the Author, I’m not saying we won’t, it’s just—Just hear me out, ok?”

Emma clawed her hair, squeezed tensed muscles at the base of her skull, exhaled audibly. Regina was all crossed arms and choleric jaw, foot tapped with barely contained ire. Emma steeled herself, still hated this stuff.

“When Ingrid—When the Snow Queen’s curse ended, I had all these… memories. And I didn’t know why but it turns out when I was a kid she fostered me, she took me in when no one else wanted me and she, I dunno…” Emma shrugged uncomfortably; “…Loved me, I guess? Or things were pretty good and she wanted to adopt me, and maybe if she hadn’t tried this thing with my magic I never would’ve run away. Maybe I would’ve had a family, or at least a home and I would’ve felt safe, and everything would’ve been _better_ so I get what you’re saying, I do.”

Emma snatched up her drink, stalked with it back to the fireplace - confessions like this still grated Emma’s nerves and probably always would. Regina was a tight gaze and furrowed brow, the intent kind of listening that dampened agitation. Emma gulped liquor and appreciated the burn.

“If that had happened, if I’d stayed…” Emma shook her blonde head, pointed instead at the Page now splayed and abandoned on the couch. “Do you think they have Henry? I know they look happy…” Emma shrugged helplessly. “Yeah maybe they are, maybe they don’t know any different so it doesn’t matter to them, but that matters to me and I know it matters to you.”

Emma drained her glass, sat the empty tumbler on the mantle with a _thunk_. “You covered it in Neverland, Regina – everything _I_ did, everything _you_ did, led us here, to Henry and Storybrooke and my parents and _us._ If we find the Author, if they change anything about you then maybe… Maybe that doesn’t happen. And I don’t want that.”

Her shot whistled across the distance, hit its mark with pernicious accuracy - a slow deflation of Regina’s tempestuously-puffed chest, a concave reckoning. But Emma was not done. There was something else she wanted to say, something important. She scratched crudely at the vexed muscle of her jaw.

“Dammit - you don’t need the Author to change who you are, Regina. You’ve already done the shitty work. You’re not the person you were - you’re not even the person I first met but I don’t want to not-meet her, I was fucking attracted to that woman. And yeah, I wanted to kill you and you wanted to kill me but dammit - that was good too. And I know you think the Author can write you some sort of happier story, it’s just…” The only thing Emma could look at for this next part was her feet.

“I know you want that, Regina, I do; you want your Happy Ending and I’m not saying we should stop looking for the Author it’s just-- I think we can find it on our own. I think we’re already halfway there. And I’m thinking _fuck that guy_ , because I’m already, I dunno…” Emma shrugged a peevish shoulder. “…I’m kinda _happy_.”

Emma exhaled a shaky breath, wired for the fight she was sure would spark now that she’d stopped, primed for it. Across the room, Regina was flared nostrils and a bullish tilt to her head. Her eyes swirled with something like rage and Emma stepped away from the fireplace, worried incineration was in her near future.

When Regina charged, it was furiously; Emma was slammed back against the wall, Regina’s hands fisted in her singlet, breath forced from her lungs. Regina caught it with her mouth. Her lips were hard on Emma’s, white teeth bit as her tongue fought for entry and Emma welcomed her in.

Hands clawed at the base of Emma’s tank top, Regina yanked it over her head and when Emma’s arms fell again she pulled at Regina’s satin robe - Regina caught her wrists, forced them up, restrained them against the plaster over Emma’s head. Emma moaned into Regina’s extravagant mouth, her mind reeled and she didn’t know what she’d done to deserve this but it was good – _Two thumbs up, would crush dreams again._

Regina fumbled between Emma’s shoulder blades, the clasp of her bra sprang open and fell away and nimble fingers found Emma’s peaked nipple; Emma hissed a breath and arched into Regina’s hands. She reached again for Regina’s robe, slid across the satin rise of her hips and started to gather the material but Regina pulled her away, pushed Emma’s wrists high on the wall and they were held there even after Regina let go, a now-familiar press of magic.

Regina searched Emma’s eyes and the blonde smirked back daringly, hooked a leg around Regina’s bare calf and tried to pull her in – an attempt Regina stopped with a regal palm on Emma’s chest, the heavy rise and fall of Emma’s lungs beneath it. She traced the movement, flicked her thumb over one strained, pink nipple and Emma’s head lolled against the wall, Regina’s mouth dropped to the languid curve of Emma’s throat, lathed and nipped at delicate cartilage, the hollows and rigid line of Emma’s collarbone. Her lips tested the light banding across Emma’s chest, the supple rise of her breast and marked her there, Regina’s smile curved and wicked.

Her tongue trailed across Emma’s skin to a pale, pebbled areola, pulled Emma’s puckered flesh into her mouth and sucked firmly, scraped it gently with her teeth; lavished the other with fingers and thumb as Emma writhed against her, arched and bowed, hissed for more – more pressure, more hands, more _Regina_.

Regina teased, released the nipple from her red mouth with a _pop_ , only to come down hard on the other, an exchange of hands and tongue that drove Emma to a sinful pleading and Regina revelled in it, in the shocked arc of Emma’s body each time she bit just a little too hard, caressed just a little too softly. But eventually she missed Emma’s lips, the dark taste of her and when Regina kissed her again, Emma groaned into her mouth; kissed her like worship, like sanctuary, like vengeance.

One hand began a slow trail down Emma’s ribs, stretched like a grate beneath her tanned skin to the ripple and clench of muscle on Emma’s stomach, her sides, the oblique curlicue and banded V that drew Regina’s fingers to the buckle of her belt. Regina relinquished Emma’s nipple regretfully, fought roughly with the cinched leather, pulled at the stud and zipper of her jeans to the sharp jangle of metal. Emma’s hips jutted forward to help her, her back arched when Regina tugged forcefully on tight denim, and Regina dropped to her knees as she peeled the jeans from Emma’s thighs, threw them carelessly when Emma kicked her feet free.

Long, sleek legs now available to Regina’s mouth and hands, she made good use of both; kissed the long bones of Emma’s shins, kneaded the knotted muscles of her calves. Regina kissed her knees, fingertips trailed into the pits behind and Emma’s toes wriggled, ticklish. Regina smiled against taut tendons, kissed her again delicately.

When Regina looked up over Emma’s lean body, she was stunned by the blonde’s expression. There was something raw and open there; sea-storm eyes glittered damply, a fondness to one curved corner of her lips, the other side bitten back by hard teeth. For a moment, Regina couldn’t breathe, every molecule of oxygen stolen away by the reveal and she almost expected the fire to snuff out.

Regina tore her eyes away from the unconscious statement Emma was making, and kissed the place where knee became thigh, loved her quietly, left Emma in private.

_Does she know she loves me? Does she know I feel the same?_

Regina showed her with the only language that didn’t frighten either of them – her pink tongue dragged up Emma’s thigh, teeth and lips latched onto sharply jutted bone, fingers curled into the waistband of Emma’s ridiculously-red bikini-cut panties. She pulled the scrap of material away, basked in the wet glint between Emma’s tanned legs, trailed a short, painted nail along the furrow between outer lips and inner thigh and Emma shivered, goosebumps on soft flesh.

Regina rose like Lucifer, poised on the edge of downfall; left Emma there suspended and stalked away. A stricken cry mewled from Emma’s throat and she shifted against the wall, pulled at the magical bonds that held her.

Regina’s only intent had been to get herself a pillow for her knees since she planned to be on them for a while, but her throat hitched dryly as she watched the bulge and clench of Emma’s arms when she struggled, the flexed undulation of muscle in her stomach and thighs. Regina licked her lips slowly, a predatory tilt to them, fire trapped by her black-brown eyes.

“Stop struggling,” she commanded; voice stern, mouth hard.

Emma hesitated, looked warily across the distance and Regina folded her arms over her chest, shoulders squared majestically, hip jutted in challenge.

Emma’s eyes narrowed then, crisp like green apples; her mouth twitched to a smirk, chin raised defiantly. She struggled again, harder this time; watched hooded hunger seep through Regina’s eyes, her pink-flushed cheeks, the slow swipe of her tongue over parted lips. Emma husked, “ _Make me_ …”

Regina was on her a moment later, knees on a careless cushion, fingernails dug into Emma’s soft thighs as she slammed them apart and pushed her tongue into pooled wetness. Emma surrendered with a shattered cry, jolted and quaked against Regina’s mouth as she lathed and probed, all determined strokes and hard thrusting.

Regina’s tongue held a flooding tide of blue-flame pleasure and Emma rode it raggedly, keened when Regina forced her hips back against the wall and lifted one tanned thigh over her bare-satin shoulder. She pushed her tongue deeply into Emma’s slick-hot cunt.

A litany of haggard _Fuck_ s sworn at the ceiling - Emma clawed against the plaster, needed to find purchase in Regina’s hair, to hold her glorious head as it moved between her legs but forgot how to do anything when Regina’s tongue stroked firmly from opening to clit again and again, long lavish pulls with the flat of her tongue, twirled, roiled motions around the rising throb of Emma’s nerves.

Regina lingered, tongued and mouthed and sucked, lost herself in the shuddered, moaning gasp of Emma’s body; strung out the rising crescendo of lungs and arched spine, the digging flex of Emma’s heel against her curved back. Regina pressed and circled, found the place that stilled Emma’s body entirely but for her pleading mouth, a nonsensical begging and repetitive _‘Gina, ‘Gina…_ Emma’s hips stiffened, stiffened, a half-swallowed curse and then she bucked uncontrollably, Regina’s chin flooded with wetness, ears rang with Emma’s wrenched cries.

Regina’s lungs burnt then, chest heaved for breath between Emma’s thighs but it was worth it, worth every prolonged stitch in her ribs as she collected Emma’s taste on her tongue, the tang and unique flavour of her; rolled her mouth over the wellspring and against painfully sensitive nerves until Emma tried to fight her off with useless legs. Regina chuckled low and throaty, distant thunder on ozone, the damp perfection in the sheen of sweat on Emma’s stomach and hips, the places she kissed with lazy profusion.

Regina was not finished. High on her knees, she lulled Emma’s body with her soft mouth and slow tongue, her reverent hands on Emma’s flushed skin and sensitive breasts. Regina rolled Emma’s nipple gently; harder and Emma’s low chuckle turned to a rasped hiss in her mouth, strands of blonde brushed Regina’s knuckles with her drooped head.

“Gimme a minute,” Emma begged, and Regina hid her smile against Emma’s belly.

“No.” The hand that rested on Emma’s lowered thigh moved upward, brushed teasingly against lips still soaked with wetness. Regina moaned onto Emma’s stomach, circled her naval with her tongue, made patterns over tensed abdominals down to Emma’s squirmed hips.

“’Gina, please…”

Regina nipped at her hipbone, soothed it with her lips. “Apparently my magic doesn’t really keep you to that wall, Emma,” Regina murmured archly against her skin. “So I can only presume you want to be there.” Regina pressed the back of her index finger between Emma’s slick lower lips, and Emma jolted as Regina’s knuckle brushed lightly on her raw nerves. “Now, be a good girl and don’t complain, or I’ll stop what I’m doing.”

Emma went rigid around her, tensed; her copper-in-flame glare burnt Regina’s skin but Regina refused to look up, refused to acknowledge Emma’s ire. She waited with interest to see if the blonde would fight her; brought another finger to join the one already pressed along Emma’s fluid length, slid incrementally closer to the molten place between her thighs.

“Fuck you, Regina,” Emma breathed, somewhere between anger and need, a dark line she shuddered along.

Regina said nothing, grinned triumphantly onto Emma’s hip; dug in with her teeth as she thrust her fingers home. Regina was two-knuckles deep before she twisted her hand, curled and wedged her fingers when she did it and drove them to the hilt, repeated the motion over and over, a slow corkscrewing in Emma’s body, each rising thrust grew faster as she dragged her arm back, sheathed herself longer and deeper inside Emma, until her bent thumb met Emma’s clit and rolled pointedly against it.

Emma’s throat a lustful accordion, panted grunts and orchestral cries, her head hung lower and lower against her stretched shoulder in contrast to the desperate rise of her hips as she met Regina’s thrusts. Emma was a pulled thread, a rocked boat, a beaten landscape, all worn bare and coming apart. She begged Regina for more, didn’t know what exactly; Regina lifted her thigh again, wrapped Emma’s leg around her camisoled body and pushed her fingers deeper, harder as she opened wide for her hand.

Emma struggled with clenched calf muscles on Regina’s satin waist, dug in with her heel, begged again because she couldn’t help herself, mindless sound pulled from her larynx with each curled thrust inside of her and then Regina’s hand on her breast squeezed and pinched, her lips and mouth luxurious against Emma’s ribs and Emma thought that was better, thought that might be enough until Regina’s hand skated away again and sharp nails dragged fire through the stinging rivulets of sweat on her back and _yes_ – that was better; Regina’s fingers pushed fast and tight now between her earthquake thighs, the collapsing faultline inside of her.

Regina’s hand caressed the curve of Emma’s ass, and then her thumb pushed between her cheeks, pressed against tightly clenched muscle and Emma’s begging stopped, replaced by a long, tattered moan, a gasped breath; an exultant cry. Regina could barely move her elbow, hand crushed by Emma’s tightness, the tightrope tension of her hips but Regina drove her arm on, fingers against the friction of ridges, thumb pressed deeper and then Emma fractured like glass, shattered like a windshield, came apart in pieces and bellows in Regina’s hands.

Regina’s world tilted suddenly; she found herself flat on her back without knowing how she got there, until Emma’s naked body collapsed on top of her, shook and flurried against her like the embers of a wind-swept fire. Emma kissed Regina over and over, cheeks wet and lips desperate; clutched to her satin camisole with clenched fists, tucked her face down into Regina’s breasts and Regina wrapped her arms around her, stunned and reverent and grateful.

Regina pressed her lips to blonde curls, tangled and sweaty but they still smelled like soap and spice and Emma’s cologne and— _What is that? Is that just her?_ Regina rubbed her spine gently, waited as Emma chased down her shattered breath, battled for a steady heartbeat, fought for any semblance of self beneath her shaking.

Regina held Emma through the storm. She fell slightly in love with Emma a thousand times over. All she said was, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Emma almost wiped her salt-stricken face on Regina’s shoulder but abruptly thought better of it; snatched up her discarded tank with an outstretched arm but refused to move any other part of herself from Regina’s body. She used the cotton to rub her eyes and cheeks, her nose; ignored Regina’s arch expression at her lack of decorum and sniffed loudly. “Rather I use that nice robe you’re wearing?”

“I’d rather you got up and used a tissue, like any decent person.”

Emma tucked her head back under Regina’s lifted chin, ear pressed to the slow rise and fall of her sternum. “No you wouldn’t,” she murmured, muffled against Regina’s breast. “You like me indecent.” Emma swirled a light fingertip over Regina’s peaked nipple through dark-navy satin, and the rapid leap in Regina’s heartbeat proved her point.

Regina sighed, mildly exasperated, and wrapped her arms around Emma’s body again. The fireplace crackled behind them, but otherwise the room was perfectly quiet.

“So much for the bed,” Emma smirked, and kissed the skin beneath her mouth.

“Is that a complaint?” Regina gravelled.

“Nope.” Emma stroked Regina’s side contentedly with the pad of her thumb. “Just sayin’”

Regina rose beneath her like a wave; hot breath played over the kinked strands of blonde at Emma’s ear. “There’s still time…”

An intercostal catch of Emma’s breath - for once, she didn’t know if her body could take it. But Regina’s would. And Emma was always willing to try. “I have an early shift at the station. I’ll have to leave around dawn.”

It was a warning, not a withdrawal, and Regina realised that but snapped anyway, “Get your father to do it.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, and then her upper body just enough to see Regina’s face. “Regina Mills - did you just advise me - a _town employee_ \- to blow off my civic duty so I can stay here and be naked with you?”

“I am wearing all of my clothes,” Regina replied primly. “And _civic duty_ is nothing more than an idea perpetuated by government leaders to keep their citizens from asking for larger salaries.”

Emma chuckled, put her head back down. “ _Fuck The Man_ , is that what you’re saying?” She poked at Regina’s ribs and the brunette squirmed, batted her hand away. “Would this have anything to do with fact that ‘The Man’ is currently Mary Margaret?”

“I am not so petty, _Miss Swan_.” Regina struggled to keep her tone as a warning, too much mirth in her mouth. “This has everything to do with the fact that I plan to make love to you until you pass out, and then start all over again _after_ the sun comes up.”

Regina smiled then, didn’t realise she’d said anything problematic until the silence stretched on too long, until she noticed Emma had stiffened in her arms and the beat she felt was Emma’s thunderous pulse. It came to her then, words cracked like a whip but before she could take them back Emma whispered, barely audible:

“Make love, huh?”

“I want to _fuck_ you,” Regina amended, purred against her ear with forceful precision.

Emma was quiet. Her fingertip traced loosely over the laced edge of Regina’s satin camisole. A hitched breath, and then she murmured, “Maybe we could do both.”

Blood roared through Regina’s ears - a triumphant bellow, a besieged roar. She didn’t know how or when she got to her feet, barely registered the flick of magic that waved out the fire, Emma’s hand a ghosted memory in hers as she led her slowly out of the room and up the curved staircase. By the time they had arrived in her bedroom, Regina was thoroughly bewildered as to where she was or how she had gotten there.

When Emma cupped her face and kissed her, it didn’t matter anymore.

Regina existed right here.

She’d found herself again.

*****

**I'd really love to hear what you think/feel/want to see after reading this chapter so let me know in the comments. And if we don't talk before then, Happy whatever-you-celebrate!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Regina became the universe. It was a ridiculous notion, but Emma couldn’t escape it, like falling for her; like gravity."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is **explicit**. Seriously, no real plot here, just smut with a frosting of fluff. 
> 
> I wrote this instead of packing for my trip today -- clearly I am great at procrastiwriting and just terrible at life. But I will be family and beach-focused for at least the next week, so hopefully it will tide you over. 
> 
> For those of you who can, your comments/kudos will be the icing on my Christmas pudding so thank you - I'll be dropping by frequently because nerd :) Merry Chris-Kwanz-Chanu-Festiv-Mas, friends! Take care and see you soon x

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_29\. [ (How hard can you love me?) ]_**

It was quiet at first. Just the two of them standing at the foot of Regina’s bed.

Regina’s bedroom curtains were open and the moon sifted in. Regina was the night, all dark-navy satin and inky-black hair; fathomless eyes refracted low light from the hall like stars. Her breath was warm, face cool in Emma’s hands. When she smiled, time stopped.

Emma kissed her in eons, slowly gathering heat and speed and pressure, mouths sparking together and bursting apart. Planets formed by their tongues, whole worlds built and destroyed in the light brush of fingertips against skin -- Regina became the universe. It was a ridiculous notion, but Emma couldn’t escape it, like falling for her; like gravity.

Hands knotted in Regina’s hair, Emma kissed her with raw promises; Regina’s chilled hands slid from her bare hips, slowly behind and pulled her in. Emma smirked into her mouth, gripped tighter to her hair, tugged her dark head back to expose her jaw, her throat for pressed lips and a trailed tongue. Regina’s low rumble rolled through Emma - purred pleasure, lazy languor; the sound hitched when Emma bit and sucked, bruised her tender skin, marked her there.

“ _Mine,_ ” Emma whispered, cocky. Regina bristled for a moment; became distracted by Emma’s mouth, luxurious and unrepentant.

Emma caught Regina’s arms, held her wrists together in one hand, slid to her side and kissed her shoulder through satin, the place where jutted bone met corded muscle; pulled at the collar of her robe until it fluttered away and gathered in Regina’s bent elbows. Emma turned Regina slowly in her arms, painted the ridges and hollows of Regina’s shoulder blades with her tongue, the dips of her spine, the nerves and tendons that shivered when she kissed them. Emma tattooed her name there, dark and permanent.

When she released Regina’s arms it was to free the robe; Emma followed its liquid path to the floor. On her knees, she worshipped the small of Regina’s back, the way the camisole fell over her breathtaking ass; Emma’s short nails trailed rising fire from Regina’s ankles to clenched calves, over leagues of olive perfection until she reached the satin hem at her mid-thigh. Emma’s eyes closed then, her forehead pressed to Regina’s bowed vertebrae and she slid her hands higher, over silken skin signposted by gooseflesh braille, her thumbs stroked sensitive inner thighs, fingers skimmed and grasped Regina’s hips.

Emma’s thumbs danced in wetness long before they reached the place it came from, long before she realised Regina was completely bare under her camisole. A drawn-out moan shuddered from Emma’s throat, teeth bitten hard to her lower lip; she smiled appreciatively against Regina’s rear. “Madame Mills – did you forget to put on panties?”

“I didn’t forget,” Regina rasped. She tumbled forward in a ragged groan as Emma’s thumb slipped between drenched lips, stroked the aching tide of her body.

“I want you to be comfortable,” Emma whispered, but clearly Regina no longer heard her, focused on the hand between her thighs. Emma coaxed her up onto the bed, a crawled motion that never saw her hand far from the wet heat of Regina’s body.

She convinced Regina’s arms up onto the headboard, and her hands gripped tightly to its padded edge. Moonlight flooded through the window, illuminated the fine sheen of sweat on Regina’s forehead and cheek, and Emma kissed her nape, her taut shoulders before she slid away again.

Kneeling behind her, Emma gathered dark-navy satin with her free hand and pushed it over the bent bowstring of Regina’s body, like pushing back the night to reveal a storm-darkened morning. Muscle played suggestively in the shadow of Regina’s skin, a dusky twilight; Emma pressed her teeth to the paler globe of Regina’s ass and bit at the taut muscle, marked it too – _About time I returned that favour._

An ocean had gathered in the whorls of Emma’s thumbprint. She slicked it against the bundle of nerves that set Regina’s legs quivering, toes curled as she leant heavily against the headboard, arms strained. Emma swiped and circled slowly, languidly, just enough pressure to drive Regina to madness, just enough to keep her there but never more; shuddered gasping, her rigid body begging. Regina’s hips ground down for more friction and Emma pulled away; a jagged whimper became a tattered moan in Regina’s mouth when Emma pushed inside her, thumb angled, worked deeply into her body.

The tapered thickness of Emma’s hand gave a fullness Regina wasn’t expecting. Her arms failed, nails scraped down quilted fabric as she fell. Emma stopped, and Regina made a noise that glissandoed between desperation and irritation. Emma sank her teeth to a rivulet of sweat at the dip of Regina’s spine. “Hands on the headboard,” she warned throatily.

Regina didn’t move, except to push back against Emma’s stilled thumb. Emma’s smile glinted in the low light, and she took her other hand from Regina’s hip, put short nails to the dark edge of bunched satin beneath her hair, dragged them slowly down Regina’s exposed skin. Regina arced with a hiss, head thrown back at the delicious sting between pleasure and pain. The brunette held out, but eventually rose; majestic in her stiff pose, and when her hands gripped the bedhead, Emma flicked crackled magic from her palm. Regina tested it archly, but it held her there.

“ _Emma_ …”

“OK?” It was a question with a hard edge of command. Emma knew she was pushing a boundary, but something told her that wasn’t a bad thing; and when she pressed tighter with her curled thumb Regina’s only response was a shuddered cry and a beautifully hung head, her hips driven back to meet her.

Emma kissed the bulged muscle of Regina’s side, her cello hips; angled down with her thumb and thrust into her again, again, harder, more powerfully each time, a delicious stretching and release over the wedged part of her hand with every movement. It drew a mindless cacophony of sound that spilled from Regina’s open mouth into the moonlight, billowed out around them.

Wetness pooled in Emma’s palm, between her fingers as she cupped them, curled them up against the sensitive nub of Regina’s nerves, the place that pulled tattered cursing from Regina’s hallowed mouth, started her thighs quaking. In Emma’s hand, molten lust, viscous sunlight and Emma circled and pushed, searched the confines of Regina’s body for more pleasure, ground herself into Regina’s roiling hips; reached up and gripped a handful of Regina’s hair, pulled her head back and her name careened from Regina’s curved throat, a ragged invocation. Emma kissed sacred sacral dimples, worked Regina’s body with every part of her hand, her strained arm, her burning shoulder.

When Regina came, it was with a bellowed cry breaking apart, a benediction; hips jerked and jolted, muscles clenched in fury, released to an abyss, a weightless existence. She collapsed down, Emma slumped breathlessly against her elongated spine -- she released Regina’s hands because the brunette could not, let her fall against the mattress, this perfect release of everything she was, everything they would be in time.

_This is everything. Regina is everything._

Emma found just enough energy to lift her head, dusted Regina’s back with light kisses, tasted the fatigued salt of her. A moment later, Emma heard the muffled sob, realised Regina’s ribcage was a bellows. Alarmed, she flew to her side, bare legs akimbo; pulled Regina up and the woman curled onto her lap, face hidden against Emma’s thigh.

_Shit, what did I do? What have I done? Idiot, Emma; goddamn—_

“Are you ok? Regina?” Emma stroked inky hair splayed on her latte thigh. Regina nodded, sniffed quietly but Emma’s tension continued. “Did I—” she swallowed thickly, “—did I hurt—”

“ _Shhhhhh_ …”

Emma stopped, brow furrowed; traced unconscious patterns on Regina’s shoulder, across the thin strap that tethered tightly bunched satin, and waited. Every now and then, Regina shivered in her lap, and Emma didn’t know if she was crying or if it was aftershocks of what they had done or if she was just cold, but she held her tightly anyway, hoped it would help all three.

Eventually, Regina croaked against her skin, “That was good.” Her hand slid stiltedly against Emma’s leg as she wiped her eyes. “A little too good…” Regina added pointedly, a familiar, imperious edge to her tone.

At that, Emma relaxed. Her head tipped back, eyes closed and she scoffed silently at the ceiling -- _Only Regina could be mad at me because we fucked too well..._

It was more than that, Emma knew. She understood what Regina was really saying, the actual complaint because she had fallen apart herself just a short while ago, downstairs. It was uncomfortable to have all of these feelings.

Emma curled one finger into satin, tried playfully: “All emotional because I fuck like a champion?” – and sharp nails dug painful crescents into the soft skin of her inner thigh. Emma jumped, chuckled because she deserved that.

“My feelings are no longer any of your business,” Regina snapped, huffed.

“Yeah they are,” Emma countered, unnecessarily -- they both knew that truth. Feelings were what they had now, around each other, about each other, for each other. Trying to pretend otherwise would be like trying to scoop the ocean into a cup, even as they were swimming in the middle of it. “Wanna talk about it?”

Regina shook her head, despite the fact that this time Emma sounded like she honestly meant the offer. Suddenly the fabric bundled between Regina’s armpits and breasts felt oppressive, cloying to her and she raised herself just enough to tear it from her body, tossed it viciously away; head thumped back down on Emma’s crooked thigh. Emma smiled, stroked her hair again. Regina made idle patterns on Emma’s ankle with her thumb.

The room cooled overheated skin, and Regina twitched along the line between agitation and lassitude. It was an uncomfortable balance, confused by the traitorous ache thrummed between her thighs, the itch in her ribs, Emma’s delicate scent beckoning every time she inhaled. Irritation corrugated the space between Regina’s brows, fell to a sullen resignation.

Regina tucked thick hair behind her ear so she could watch Emma in her peripheral vision, not ready yet to look her square in the eye. “It’s been a long time,” she husked; cleared her throat and tried again. “It’s been a long time, since I trusted anyone enough to… take me.” _I have never done that, never trusted anyone--_ was the truth behind it. But Regina didn’t say that, didn’t want to speak again about the echoing chasm between innocence shared with Daniel and the desecration she’d felt and perpetuated after his death. She dropped her gaze to the comforter. “And I never… I don’t like to be… I’m not usually…”

Emma stroked Regina’s shoulder as she sputtered out, smoothed her hand along the brunette’s waist. “Control’s a fucked up thing, isn’t it?” Emma muttered.

In her lap, Regina was silent. Emma put her hand loosely over Regina’s side, fingertips brushed against the soft sideways fall of her breast. “You can trust me,” she said quietly. “I won’t hurt you.”

Regina exhaled slowly, throat tight around: “I know...”

“It’s not something I’m used to either,” Emma admitted reluctantly. “I mean, I don’t trust people, I don’t—The things you do to me…” Emma trailed off, bit the inside of her mouth against it.

Emma was talking about more than her body – she’d been pretty liberal with that. It wasn’t that she hadn’t had shitty experiences when she was smaller, wiry, but she’d never let that get to her. Sure, no one else was allowed to tie her down, physically or metaphorically - but she’d been restrained before; she’d looped her own knots, latched her own easy-release cuffs; she’d been fucked against walls, fumbled for release in alleyways, let other people think they were in complete control -- But it had always been a lie. Emma had led them there. The only lock that couldn’t be broken was in her, chained to places foreign hands would never touch, a person completely separate from skin-deep sensation.

But not with Regina.

When Regina touched her, she touched places Emma didn’t even know she had. Regina put her hands into Emma’s body and pulled out feelings; slipped inside her like walls decades thick were nothing more than sandcastles. Regina did things to her, benevolent, awestricken things, things that took a lifetime of burden from Emma’s shoulders and lay them at her feet, held her up like it was nothing but it was _everything_.

Emma brushed her knuckles on Regina’s ribs, rested her fingers on her curved waist. “All I’m saying is, you do pretty good work, Mills,” Emma finished gruffly -- As if Regina had built her a house, not this place she might call home, as if Regina had constructed smooth walls, rather than tearing all of them down.

Regina’s stiff-necked turn was expected, as was the acidic spit of her unimpressed glare -- But Emma was absolutely surprised as Regina shoved her off the side of the bed. She thumped heavily to the floor, a startled heap of blonde and bare limbs, followed by winded gasping and pained, choked laughter.

Eventually, Regina’s face loomed over the edge of the mattress, eyebrow arched, ire burning. “And now you’re back where you belong,” she sneered coolly. “ _Beneath me.”_

Emma grinned, tucked a hand under her bruised skull; shrugged against the carpet and trailed one fingertip lazily over her breasts. “I can think of better ways to be beneath you.”

Regina rolled her eyes and disappeared. Emma lay there a moment longer, formed an idea that creased the corner of her lips, puckered the nipple under her fingertip. She stood swiftly, crawled onto the bed with sinuous movement, all long limbs and toothy grin.

Regina frowned at her, scurried back. “Whatever you’re thinking, Emma – _Don’t_.”

Emma pawed her way to where Regina threatened, and the brunette raised her arm, her hand crackled fire.

Emma sat back, arms folded over her breasts. “Really? You’re gonna try that on these fancy sheets?” Emma eyed the sumptuous comforter, asked, “What’s this worth, anyway? Could I hock it? I’m thinking of buying an apartment…”

“With your standard of living, you could buy a whole house,” Regina shot back.

Mock offense dropped Emma’s jaw -- She launched herself at Regina in spite of the magic, tackled and wrestled her against the pillows and Regina fizzed laughter, an involuntary expulsion of playfulness Emma revelled in. She held Regina down, straddled her hips while Regina bucked under her, no real effort to throw her off.

Emma smirked. “And now, you’re beneath me…”

Regina fought more purposefully now, indignant: “Get off!”

“That’s the plan,” Emma drawled. She pulled Regina’s arms over her head, leant down on her wrists. “Quit movin’ about.”

“Let me go,” Regina snapped. But her hips rolled against Emma’s angled for pleasure, nostrils flared, a red-rising flush crept across Regina’s chest and over her cheeks.

“Why do you bother arguing with me?” Emma asked, and released a spark of magic to keep Regina there. Emma slid down, angled her body between Regina’s legs; hooked one olive thigh over her hips and pushed in, until her wetness met Regina’s and slid against it like a slick shoreline, a mind-crushing, perfect wave.

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck._

Emma’s eyes closed, body screamed and she didn’t see Regina’s dark eyes swirl to midnight, blown pupils raked over tanned sinew and muscle, the bent heave of her breasts.

“Fuck I love magic,” Emma muttered, nails dug into Regina’s trapped thigh, other hand reached blindly for Regina’s breast.

“Indeed.” Regina’s voice was low and dangerous, gravelled. “And exactly what is it about magic that you like, _Swan_?”

Emma was too caught up in the storm of Regina’s body, the wet-crashed tide, the clit-to-clit contact to register the danger, didn’t know anything had shifted until Regina gripped her ass, pulled her off-balance, interrupted Emma’s rhythm with her own -- a slow, firm thrusting of her hips. Emma tumbled into Regina’s raised body, hands on her shoulders, confused how she had gotten here, unable to form thought as Regina rolled tightly against her.

“Magic, Emma, is a fickle thing,” Regina purred. “It doesn’t always do what you want it to.”

Regina’s white teeth buried in the juncture of Emma’s neck and shoulder; she marked her again, and Emma shuddered against her mouth, between her thighs. Regina pushed Emma back onto the mattress and Emma whimpered at the loss of friction, moaned into the slip of control. Regina straddled her, knelt over her, palms splayed on either side of Emma’s neck. She lowered her red mouth to Emma’s ear, whispered, “ _I_ won’t always do what you want me to.”

Regina kissed her then, but actually it was exactly what Emma wanted. She twisted her fingers into Regina’s hair, groaned onto her opulent tongue. Regina allowed it, deigned concession with her dipped head, until she had had enough and forced Emma back against the bed.

Regina sat back on Emma’s thighs, trailed one painted nail from the dimple in Emma’s chin, down her throat, across her pink-flushed chest to a tautly hardened nipple. Regina pinched it between finger and thumb to Emma’s hissed sound; lowered her head and dragged her tongue lazily across the peak.

“You have to be careful with magic,” Regina went on almost conversationally, and her breath caused goosebumps to rise on the puckered pink areola. Regina smiled darkly, pleased. “You can’t simply jump in without knowing your limits, without considering the consequences.”

Emma’s face warred with itself, lust marred by irritation. Regina’s tone had slipped from suggestive into patronising and she was far from impressed. Emma brought her arms up between them, crossed them over the parts of herself Regina seemed so currently enamoured of. She cocked an eyebrow. “Are you gonna keep talking? Because I was kinda in the middle of something.”

Regina sat back, an _oh really?_ tilt to her head. “Were you?” she asked, exaggerated. “And what was that, Emma?”

Emma raised her shoulders, olivine eyes flashed anger. “I was _fucking_ you.”

“Oh…” Regina feigned memory loss, an almost bored confusion. “I suppose that was what we were doing...”

“Listen lady—” Emma roiled like an earthquake, jerked like a bucking bull beneath her and Regina shoved her back again, glared primly.

“No, you listen. I’m giving you a magic lesson, and it would be _polite_ of you to pay attention.”

“You want me to _pay attention_?” Emma knew Regina was fucking with her for her own twisted reasons, had no idea what they were but she was rapidly becoming not in the mood. She hissed through gritted teeth, “If you wanna give me a magic lesson _now_ , then you’d better start with that thing you did in the vault because _that_ I can use. Otherwise I’m outta here, I’ve got work in a few hours.”

_There we are…_

Regina hid her triumph beneath a scornfully curled lip and a pointedly arched brow. It wasn’t fair, really – Emma was almost too easy to manipulate. Enjoyable though; always fun. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Emma. There was nothing particular about the magic I used in the vault.”

Green eyes narrowed, pissed. “Now I know you’re fucking with me.”

A little of Regina’s smirk slipped through, though she bit it back. “Well, you already know how to keep a person where you want them – however unsuccessful you may be. So I couldn’t possibly imagine…” Regina trailed off, widened her eyes, fluttered her hand against her opened mouth -- that coquettish move was clearly a step too far.

Emma’s teeth clenched to breaking, muscle bulged along her jaw and as her lean body tensed, Regina knew she was at risk of an actual fight erupting. She stretched over Emma, arched her breasts into her, licked a trail from the side of Emma’s neck to her earlobe, bit at it. Emma shivered involuntarily, and Regina smiled against her ear, murmured, “Are you talking about the  _cock,_ Emma?”

A choked whimper from Emma’s throat; her fingers gripped Regina’s thighs, hips rolled against her and Regina moaned deliberately into Emma’s ear, slid her hand down between them to offer friction. Regina almost lost her seduction at the depth of Emma’s wetness, at the slick, begging heat beneath her fingers and she rasped raggedly into blonde curls: “Are you asking me to _fuck_ you?”

“No,” Emma breathed, and Regina pulled back, genuinely surprised. Malachite eyes glinted, hooded over a determined chin. “ _I_ want it. _I_ want to fuck _you.”_

Regina chuckled then, low and honestly delighted. She shook her head, put a gentle palm on Emma’s chest. “Oh Emma…” She revelled in the blonde’s grin, her excited anticipation; leant in with a smile of her own. “ _That’s not the deal_.”

Regina was prepared for the sudden change in attitude, the surly body that attempted to throw her off. She half-dismounted, slid her thigh between Emma’s, pushed all of her weight against her shoulder and murmured against her furious mouth: “It doesn’t always go the way you want it to.”

Regina’s next words were nothing more than air on her lips, head dropped to Emma’s neck, teeth scraped and tongue lathed and then Emma felt Regina pressed against her though she hadn’t moved, hard and hot and ready and Emma forgot why she had struggled, forgot why she was so mad, forgot why it even mattered who used the spell because she was going to fuck Regina anyway; she was going to show her what air felt like, what it meant to live between the firing of synapses, how bodies could become explosions.

Emma reared up beneath her, displaced Regina and pulled her in tightly, both now high on their knees; Emma gripped one hand in thick, dark hair and tugged Regina’s mouth to hers. Emma kissed her like balled lightning, fingers clawed to Regina’s ass and she jerked Regina’s hips against hers. That first slide of Regina’s length against her soaked lips took Emma’s breath away, and she stole it back from Regina’s lungs. The brunette fell into her, suddenly boneless and Emma ground her hips again, rode against the shaft, tasted Regina’s whimpered moan with a victorious mouth.

But it didn’t last.

Emma didn’t know how Regina knew the right angle, the perfect tilt, found the strength but suddenly Emma’s thigh was pulled wide, Regina’s nails sharp on Emma’s ass. Regina thrust up into her, aimed perfectly, pushed into Emma’s body, filled and stretched her, buried herself deeply and a loud cry escaped Emma’s mouth, joined Regina’s low moan as they fell.

On her back again suddenly, Emma forgot she was supposed to fight this move; instead wrapped her leg around Regina’s waist and coaxed her deeper, further inside. Regina’s forehead fell to Emma’s chest, hair tangled under her chin as she rolled her hips, and Emma clawed at her shoulders, her triceps, rose up to meet her. The comforter bunched in Regina’s fists, knees braced against the mattress; Regina thrust hard and pulled back slow, answered each time by Emma, their jutted hips kissing. Regina’s teeth, hot mouth found Emma’s nipple and Emma arched against her, held her dark head, rocked into her perfect body.

Curses fell into her ears, hers and Regina’s and Emma laughed then, a kind of mad, frenzied expulsion as Regina Mills, _the_ Regina Mills, fucked her with a passionate fury, a desperate longing. Emma pushed herself almost to sitting and Regina lost tempo, the barest movement of her hips, legs shifted and she lifted an eyebrow, mildly impatient. Emma kissed her, pulled herself over Regina’s knees, straddled her lap.

“Lie back,” Emma murmured, actually asking this time.

Regina shook her head. “No. I’m quite comfortable where I am.” Her hips rolled up to make her point, sheathed deep and hard in Emma’s wetness, her shuddered thighs and Emma swore viciously, gripped tightly to Regina’s neck.

Emma forgot why she had even asked when Regina wrapped Emma’s tanned thighs further around her waist, held her hips and pounded into her again. Emma held tight to Regina like an anchor, like a life raft, like the mast of a sinking ship as everything became _her_ , all arms and thighs and breasts, sharp nails and dark hair, sweat and moans and beneath it all the _cock_ , an extension of Regina’s body that Emma rode hard, that was thick and tight and deep inside her, all friction and delicious stretching and rough pounding against the places that made her forget her own name, forget who she had ever been just _this_ , this _fucking_ and _everything_ \- this _Regina_.

Regina’s moans were now rough grunts through Emma’s panted need, hips jerked in rhythm and Emma was so close, clenched and hot around her, coming apart in her arms and Emma dragged one of Regina’s hands from her hip, pushed it down between her wet thighs. Regina’s fingers rubbed knowingly against Emma’s clit desperate and fast and Emma buckled, bucked against her, came at Regina’s hand and her hips, against the rigid length inside her, Regina’s name shattered in Emma’s mouth, spilled out in strangled consonants and vowels. Regina stiffened and shook after her, held her so tightly Emma forgot what it was to breathe, didn’t care because Regina quaked and came apart - in her arms, in her body, in her raggedly cried name.

There were no coordinates for where she was now. Emma drifted somewhere above where she had been but at least below the ceiling. Regina was tethered to her still, with her shaking arms and thighs, her heaved breath, the thing that twinged inside every time she moved. Emma thought this was where happy people went. It was good here. Everything tasted of sex and cinnamon-baked apples.

Emma chuckled, laughed at her own foolish self, at something like joy beating her irrepressible heart. Regina leant up and kissed her slowly, magnanimously and Emma pushed them back without loosing her lips, arm outstretched to catch them, protective behind Regina’s head.

Then the spell was gone, and Emma missed it only until their bodies slotted together perfectly, her head on Regina’s shoulder, thigh tucked into the wet concave of her legs, Regina’s hip pressed against Emma’s stomach. Emma held Regina’s breast simply to have it in her hand, and Regina stroked the back of her wrist lightly.

Emma couldn’t think of any words. Maybe she didn’t need them.

“Do you want me to set an alarm?” Regina asked quietly.

_She’s not kicking me out. And I don’t want to leave._

What Emma felt was the opposite of fear, the opposite of repression and she burrowed closer into Regina’s side. “I’d rather you didn’t. Think I’ll just blow it off.”

A disapproving murmur from Regina, and Emma squeezed her breast. “Hey, it was your suggestion...”

Regina slid away, rolled on her side and stretched for a digital clock that shone an ungodly hour on its red face. “You have a few hours,” Regina bluffed. “Get under the covers. Get some sleep.”

_I guess I’m staying right here…_

Emma crawled under the comforter, curled in under exquisitely soft sheets. A moment later, Regina slid in beside her, stiff on her back, arm barely brushing Emma’s spine.

_Are you kidding me?_

“Get over here,” Emma grumbled.

An exhalation like relief; Regina rolled in behind her, hips tucked to Emma’s backside, arm around her ribs. Emma lifted Regina’s hand, kissed her fingers, slid the arm back around herself again. Regina’s steady breath on the back of her neck lulled her, warm body pressed to hers and Emma’s eyes drooped shut.

“Glad I’m here,” Emma mumbled, at the fuzzy edge of consciousness.

“ _Shhhhhhh_ ,” Regina hushed.

Emma agreed.

She slept.

*****

**I love your comments/concrit/speculations. Hit me up in the section below!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"“You wanna date me?” Emma asked, and Regina’s ragged breath, her silk skin, the wild taste of her chased away any apprehension from her voice, filled instead with a teasing humour, teeth lightly bruising Regina’s neck."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept myself busy over the Christmas/New Year's holiday, and to prove I didn't forget all of you, here's a _very_ extended chapter for your (hopefully) reading pleasure. It's a little explicit, but mostly very juicy in other ways ;)
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments over the break - I was a little stunned they kept coming, but very appreciative. You peeps are the greatest :)

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_30\. [ Just hold me ]_ **

Emma surfaced through the filmy break of dreams into a reality that seemed almost mundane - soft sheets, warm bed, grey light filtered through a black and cream room.

Regina Mills, naked and curled around her body like silk ribbon…

Not mundane. _Jesus fuck._

Regina’s thigh was heavy on Emma’s hips, arm vice-like around her ribcage, her other hand dangled loosely over Emma’s head into blonde hair. The former Evil Queen snored softly against Emma’s breast.

Regina’s breath tickled in a way that made Emma want to squirm out of her skin, crawl into the body beside her, a low-wattage burn and she struggled to figure out exactly what was going on here, to separate obvious desire from an almost painfully voluminous affection but Emma could not distinguish between the two. It was all just _this_ ; just _Regina_.

Usually, this would be where Emma ran. She would extricate herself from the situation by any means necessary, including but not limited to gnawing off her own arm. Instead, she found herself with a lopsided smile. Emma kissed Regina’s messy hair and shifted closer to her skin.

_Snuggle as fuck._

Hand tucked behind her neck, Emma stared up at the pale-paint ceiling. Through it, she imagined a red-streaked sky, a bruised violet morning; she saw stars, brighter than they should be at dawn, luminous. The world had tilted on its axis, and for a moment everything seemed just a little lighter.

_Maybe I could get used to this…_

Regina inhaled into consciousness beneath Emma’s chin, moved stiff muscles around her body, a complaint mumbled against her breast: “You kicked me in your sleep.”

“Yeah I do that, sorry.” But Emma’s mouth was too giddy to be apologetic. She held Regina’s curved shoulder with a warm arm.

“’S’alright,” Regina murmured. “--Fixed it.” Her long, brown leg skated higher on Emma’s stomach, the arch of her foot rubbed lazily against Emma’s thigh.

Emma’s grin broke wider, happiness with an undercurrent of tropical warmth, the damp heat of Regina pressed against her. Her fingertips skimmed the side of Regina’s breast, trilled over banded bone, trailed leisurely down the gentle canyon of her side up onto the rise of Regina’s hipbone. Emma paused there, made circles on Regina’s skin, wider and wider, lower; slid down between their bodies, ever closer to the juncture of Regina’s thighs.

Regina’s sleepy rumble rolled approvingly onto Emma’s chest and she tilted her hip trapped against the mattress, bowed her back, offered Emma space to slip into. Emma’s fingers moved languidly, retraced patterns made just hours before, coaxed buried embers back to life with lazy friction. Emma’s breath ruffled Regina’s dark hair, ghosted the shell of her ear and a soft murmur of encouragement slid across Emma’s skin.

“ _Emma…”_

The alarm sounded.

Obnoxious, angry, demanding -- Emma’s hand wrenched from Regina’s body, flailed wildly over her head but her arm wasn’t quite long enough to smack the damned thing across the room. “Fucking piece of—DAMMIT!”

Regina looked up, neck craned, amusement and disapproval in her raised eyebrow. “You can’t curse it into submission,” she drawled; peeled herself from Emma’s side and tapped the snooze button a little harder than necessary. “I suppose it’s time for you to get up.”

Blonde hair shook against a linen pillowcase and then Emma pulled her back, tugged Regina’s body against her, over her, a messy tangle of surprised limbs and low laughter. “I’m quitting the force. It’s been fun but this is better.”

Emma wove her fingers through Regina’s hair, tugged her face down for her mouth before Regina could argue, captured the voice of reason with her tongue and kissed it away.

Regina’ soft thigh slipped between Emma’s, teased with a pressure too light to do her any good and Emma rose like a wave, nails clutched to Regina’s hip as she ground flagrantly against her; a purred chuckle rolled into Emma’s mouth, elicited a cocky grin.

“I’m not dating someone who doesn’t have a job, who also lives with their parents,” Regina insisted, as she extricated her tongue from Emma’s only to have the blonde’s lips take up residence on her throat.

“You wanna date me?” Emma asked, and Regina’s ragged breath, her silk skin, the wild taste of her chased away any apprehension from her voice - filled instead with a teasing humour, teeth lightly bruised Regina’s neck.

“Not if you’re unemployed,” Regina restated. She sharpened an edge to her voice. “Our son needs appropriate role models, and I don’t think ‘leaving work to defile your mother’ fills that requirement.”

“Pretty sure we could make it sound better than that.” Emma thrust loosely between Regina’s thighs, hissed at the wet slide of their bodies, knee raised as Regina rode her in return. “Pretty sure we could say I’m your bodyguard and the kid’d be happy.”

“I think you violate more than you guard,” Regina panted, head hung low against Emma’s shoulder, fingers clawed to the muscled skin of her back as she matched Emma’s pace.

“Whatever. I could do both.” Emma petulant, her hips a rising undulation. She held Regina tightly, pushed against her in earnest, all friction and heavy breathing, a rasped choir of moans concordant between them and Regina lost her capacity for conversation in the sweat of Emma’s body, in the powerful pulse of her hips, in the fingers pushed between them, angled to pull desperate sounds from her royal mouth.

Regina stiffened, begged; Emma raced to catch up, red lines scratched into a quivered olive thigh, toned muscle locked in the broken tempo of _Fuck_ and _Right there_ and _How am I gonna walk today?_ , until finally she tumbled over the edge, fell into the gasped keening of Regina’s mouth, came like a shock, like a starburst, like the perfect goddamn way to start a morning. Regina fell down against her, all uncaught breath and ineffectual kisses, and Emma held her like she was everything. She was.

Regina’s sharp teeth sank suddenly into the rise of Emma’s breast, a piercing bite and Emma yelped, pushed at the body sprawled over her.

“You can’t distract me that easily,” Regina growled onto her skin, though Emma felt the wicked smile, heard it in her gravelled voice. “Go to work.”

A prominent lower lip, Emma pouted into the warm room, into the heavy weight of Regina draped perfectly over her. “I don’t even like Storybrooke.”

Regina hid her smirk, rolled away onto her side and then her feet planted on Emma’s waist, her lean hip and the blonde found herself sliding across the sheets, headed for the looming edge of the bed. Emma righted herself just as she started to fall, landed heavily with bare feet on the carpet. “What the hell, Regina?”

“Go earn a living,” came the muffled reply from Regina’s now-turned back, head on a thick pile of pillows.

Emma scuffed her toes against the floor, wished she had pockets to push her hands into. “You’re not even gonna offer me breakfast?”

“I don’t keep pastries in my house,” Regina said haughtily. “Or anything with enough fat and sugar to satisfy you.”

Emma couldn’t argue with that. She scuffed the floor again anyway. “Not even coffee?”

Regina sighed loudly. She rolled to face Emma, mouth in a stern line but something danced in the dark chocolate of her eyes and Emma knew she was being screwed with again. Emma wanted to be angry about it, but all she could muster was a little low-level irritation.

“I have a coffee machine,” Regina said primly. “You can use that.”

Emma shook her head. “Can’t. Broke Mary Margaret’s twice before she banned me. I mean, I guess I could try again - how attached are you?”

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “ _Very_.”

Emma shrugged, folded her arms across her cold-peaked breasts, hip jutted as she rocked back on her heel. Regina propped her head in her hand, elbow dug into the mattress - a silent stand-off. Hooded brown eyes slid over Emma’s toned arms, roamed the lanky carelessness of her body with the weight of a possessive fingertip and Emma shifted against the returning ache between her thighs, licked her dried lips.

Regina smiled slowly, a glint of arrogant triumph. “Any idea where my robe went?”

“Does it matter? You don’t need it.”

An arched eyebrow - Regina stared until Emma gave in, located the wisp of satin and offered it to her on one extended finger. Regina pulled it loosely over her shoulders but left it undone, rose like a ripple from the pool of her sheets. She brushed past Emma and headed for the staircase. “Come, dear.”

Her voice echoed through the room as she exited, and Emma found herself frozen in a kind of wonder she couldn’t name, a buzz on her skin like the prelude to lightning. _How does she do that? What is she doing to me? What even is this?_

“If you’re late,” Regina’s raw tone floated up again, “Your father will come looking for you. And I don’t think he’ll appreciate my outfit.”

Emma grinned. She didn’t think that was true, but it wasn’t something she ever wanted to test. _This is mine…_

The coffee machine sounded downstairs, the rough grind of beans and the timpanic clatter of coffee cups on Regina’s marble countertop. They were the sounds of domesticity, and Emma found she didn’t hate them. 

She closed the bedroom door behind her. She made her way downstairs.

*

“I’m not saying I want you to arrest him, I just think, if he’s going to play music loud enough to wake me at two AM, it shouldn’t be _Sweet Home Alabama_. And it shouldn’t be thirty times in a row, I mean - surely that’s illegal?”

Emma dragged her fingers through her now-unruly hair, tried to lift the pressure that had built behind her sleep-deprived eyes. An endless series of complaints from fairytale characters who should know how to interact with each other without the threat of death looming over them - but apparently didn’t – had left Emma wishing sword-fighting was still a thing, or dark curses, or goddamn pistols at dawn, anything but this civic compliance bullshit.

“You can make a noise complaint Archie, and I can tell Leroy to keep it down but there’s no law against Lynyrd Skynyrd,” Emma ground out. “And I’m not dragging him in for having bad taste in music.”

Emma actually didn’t hate the song, but hearing it anything more than twice in a night was probably too much, unless large amounts of alcohol were involved. Knowing Leroy, they were. “If it happens again call us, but there’s not much I can do about it today.” _Except go over there and pump a little Blondie into Leroy’s hangover for the next three hours..._

Emma almost suggested Archie do that, but caught herself. The last thing she needed was a dead former cricket on her hands. Instead she stood slowly, hands planted on her desk and tried to communicate her desire for the mild-mannered psychiatrist to leave the station without actually hurting him. Emma was tired, and it wasn’t easy.

Archie deflated, nodded, eyed Emma a little longer than necessary. He had that look on his face like he was about to ask her about her feelings.

_Hell no._

“Sorry Archie, but I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do,” she cut him off. “Just leave it with me and I’ll get David to talk to Leroy this afternoon.”

Pongo barked piercingly from the street then, and it was enough to pull Dr Hopper back out through the station doors. Emma resolved to buy the dog an entire side of beef for that rescue. Her stomach rumbled loudly at the thought - she’d missed breakfast. Emma sank into her chair, threw her boots up onto her desk and tucked her hands behind her weary head, closed her eyes for just a minute.

Emma had lingered too long in Regina’s kitchen that morning, perched on a stool as she watched the brunette make coffee; stared at Regina’s hands wrapped around a heavy mug, the way she pursed her lips and blew steam that billowed gently around the bones of her face, the enticing curve of her body as she sat across from Emma, more skin than robe - so casually naked as if Emma could handle that.

She couldn’t.

Overwhelmed and twitching, Emma barely resisted the urge to throw Regina onto the kitchen counter and take her over and over until the day ended and they moved back to her bedroom for the night… But that wasn’t the real issue.

No, Emma wanted to rinse cups and load the dishwasher, had this insane urge to do Regina’s laundry, to mow the lawns, to find out what Regina did when Henry wasn’t there to fill her days and slot herself into that routine because suddenly it felt nothing like tedium, everything like being alive and the thought of folding herself into Regina’s time as equally as her body buzzed through Emma like livewire excitement, and that was fucking _terrifying_ because Emma had never been domesticated, had never nested in her life, was still able to pack everything she owned into boxes at a moment’s notice and leave no trace of herself behind.

Emma wasn’t this person. She didn’t know if she could be this person and if she could, she didn’t know if she wanted to be. Yet it just felt… _right_ , and nothing about that made sense even though everything fit together perfectly and Emma had no goddamn idea what to do with any of it.

She wanted to close the station and go home, but when Emma thought of home now she thought of Regina, not just her house but anywhere Regina was and that scared the shit out of her more than anything else. Because Regina was not Tallahassee.

Regina Mills was a fist punch to the face, a poisoned apple turnover, a grudging ceasefire. She was a vicious glare and gritted teeth and harsh growling; acid jabs and stabbing comebacks -- she was fire. Regina Mills was a place to bury Emma’s fingers and her mouth, every part of her body but not her heart. Never her heart.

And yet…

It seemed so easy. It seemed like a perfectly natural thing for Emma to do. It kinda felt like she’d done it already.

Emma yanked her feet from the desk, snatched up a pile of reports she’d neglected to hand in for months because what use was it having your mother as Mayor if you couldn’t use her position to blow off a little paperwork?

Emma crumpled the pages in her fist, forwarded the phones and flicked off the lights, locked the door to the station as she left.

It was time she paid Mary Margaret a visit.

*

Mary Margaret, Mayor, was ensconced in the Town Hall office with baby Neal asleep in his cot under a painting of birds Emma hated and knew Regina would swiftly set on fire. Her mother looked mildly flustered when Emma walked in, recovered a second later with a beamed smile. “Emma!”

“Hey.” Emma dropped her armful of papers onto the desk, stalked back to an overstuffed chair and slouched into it, her legs sprawled over the armrest. Mary Margaret said nothing, Emma’s feelings long ago clear on the idea of behaving like the princess she apparently was: _Being ladylike could go fuck itself._

“And to what do I owe the _rare_ pleasure of my daughter’s visit?” her mother asked, hands folded primly on the over-long desk. For Regina, the set-up was imposing - with Mary Margaret, it was faintly ridiculous.

Emma jerked her head at the wrinkled reports, and Mary Margaret shuffled through them mostly for show. “Budget expenditures. From four months ago. When I wasn’t even Mayor.”

“Hey, not my fault you cast a curse and didn’t put anyone in the position, I’m just doing my job,” Emma gruffed.

Mary Margaret stared at her; Emma felt it and kept her eyes down, picked imaginary dirt from her short fingernails.

“ _Emma_ …”

Her mother’s voice was soft, admonishment masked by gentle pleading and Emma felt terrible, knew things would only get worse as this conversation went on. But she had to do this, there were things Mary Margaret needed to know, things Emma didn’t understand, couldn’t figure out on her own and whatever this woman had been or was – housemate, friend, mother – Emma had always trusted her; and despite her infuriating optimism, or maybe because of it, she had a way of keeping Emma in check when it all became too much.

Like now.

Emma lifted her hips, pulled Henry’s folded page from her denim pocket and tapped it against her nervous palm. “There’s something I’ve gotta talk to you about, something…” Emma stopped, cleared her throat. She threw herself from the chair and ruthlessly paced the polished floor.

Mary Margaret stood carefully, moved slowly in front of her desk and leant against it, gripped the edge to stop herself from reaching out -- Her daughter was all sharp limbs and agitation and it would do her no good. “Honey, what’s wrong? You seem—Did something happen? Is Henry ok?”

“Yeah he’s fine,” Emma dismissed with an absent wave – her son was at school, would be for another few hours and Emma was grateful for that, because she didn’t want him coming home in the middle of tears or carnage. “It’s not… Something’s happened but it’s not a _bad_ thing, I don’t think it is, I don’t know I’m not really--” Emma dug her fingers into her hair and pulled tightly, puffed a breath at the ceiling -- whipped around and faced the woman who perched on the edge of her desk with a worried crease to her brow.

Emma blurted: “Regina and I, we’re… I dunno. Together?”

Silence.

A long, tolling silence.

This was never going to be easy. Emma couldn’t exactly ignore the long, dark history between her mother and Regina Mills – no one could. Her father had warned her the news would hurt Mary Margaret, and Emma had prepared herself for that as much as she could, steeled herself for tears and screaming, for stages of grief and frenzy.

What Emma hadn’t prepared for, was her mother’s whooped laughter.

Mary Margaret was a shrieked cackle, a tumultuously wheezed expulsion of hysteria as she concertinaed down like an accordion, collapsed onto the floor. She was arms that held her ribs in, fought to contain the breath that cycled through her like a bellows; her choked, obscene guffaws.

Emma just stood there and watched her, one hand shoved into her pocket and the other tight on Henry’s page, something in her jaw like ire, disbelief; in her chest a strange feeling of vulnerability, a persistent itch. “Mary Margaret? Are you… Ok? Do you need…” Emma had no freaking clue what to offer her – Tea? Tissues? A straightjacket? “… _Something_?”

“You’re _obviously_ joking!” Mary Margaret hiccupped, snorted. “I mean, you said ‘Regina’, you said you and _Regina_ were together, and that’s--”

It stopped then, the laughter, as suddenly as it had begun.

Mary Margaret’s face was stricken, her bent body rigid with realisation, a horrified twist to her small mouth and green-blue eyes. Her light voice dropped a shattered octave. “Emma, that’s crazy.”

_Is it though?_

_I mean, yeah of course it is… But does it matter?_

Emma waited, face heavy and dark in her silence, tongue a tangled knot of vocalisations. She wanted to argue and rage as much as to concede, wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted here. Had she come for the woman’s blessing? Probably not, that wasn’t Emma’s style, or at least it never had been -- But Emma wondered if she was looking for an out. If anyone could give her an out, it was Mary Margaret. 

_Why did I come here?_

“ _Emma_ …” Disappointed reproval and a furrowed brow, followed by angry incredulity: “Emma! Emma what were you thinking? This is—It’s—She’s—This is _Regina_!” Mary Margaret sprang to her feet, lithe and prowling in a way Emma had never seen her before. “Regina Mills! The Evil Queen -- she’s—” The woman whipped around. “She was my _stepmother_!”

Emma cringed, surprised Mary Margaret’s first objection was this one, when ‘She tried to kill me a bunch of times’ and ‘She is the reason you had no parents’ were so available to her. “Not by choice,” Emma muttered.

“ _Not the point_.” Mary Margaret’s hands worked into fists at her sides, over and over. “We were related Emma; she looked after me when I was a child, she married my father and there may not be blood between us--” Mary Margaret stopped, cheeks turned purple on white, a strange carnival of colour. “I take that back, there is plenty of blood between us. _My_ blood, David’s, my father’s -- Regina chased us for years, Emma. She hurt us, she tried to kill us, she—”

“—Brought you guys together?” It was petulant, snide and Emma knew it, knew it didn’t necessarily help Regina’s case but then she still wasn’t sure what she wanted from this.

“By hunting me, Emma - not exactly something to be proud of,” Mary Margaret chastised. “David and I would’ve found each other anyway, and we would’ve been together a lot sooner if it hadn’t’ve been for Regina. She was constantly tearing us apart, she--” Tears burst the dam of her mother’s eyes, voice choked and ragged. “She tore us away from _you_ , Emma! She forced us to put you in that wardrobe, forced us to live without each other for twenty-eight years – how could you ever forgive her for that?”

 _No, you put me in that wardrobe because you wanted to save this town. You could’ve kept me and we would’ve been cursed but we would’ve been together..._ Emma didn’t say that because they’d already had the conversation too many times, and she wasn’t here to re-open that wound.

“We found each other again,” Emma shrugged, as though what happened to her as a kid didn’t really matter, which was ridiculous because of course it did, it mattered more than anything. Being without parents had shaped every part of who Emma was, left her stunted, a rootless tree and it was the reason Emma found herself here, completely incapable of figuring out what to do when something like Regina came along.

“We almost didn’t,” her mother breathed, face wet. “If Regina had her way…”

Emma stepped forward without thinking, wrapped a tight arm around Mary Margaret; the woman clutched to her shoulders, sobbed keenly - Emma shushed her, comforted her though she knew it should’ve probably been the other way. “Mom…”

“It can’t be her, Emma; it can’t.” Mary Margaret’s voice was muffled by Emma’s chest but it pierced like a chime. “Anyone but her, _please_ ,” the woman begged, desperate and wild.

Emma stiffened, unwound her limbs and drew herself away.

Mary Margaret’s hands shook when she wiped her cheeks, left them with a crazed sheen. “There are so many amazing people in this town Emma, good people, people who have never tried to kill either one of us…”

 _Not really_. _Not that it matters._

Emma wasn’t with Regina because of a lack of options, or because of proximity – in reality, the fact their lives were so entwined was, in Emma’s mind, a huge negative, because if it didn’t work out she would lose everything. _Everything._ There were so many reasons to run.

“How long?” Mary Margaret’s voice floated through bleakly.

Confused, Emma asked, “For what?”

“You and… Regina…”

 _Since the night I met her. Since the day I cut down her apple tree._ But that was just Regina’s skin, the body Emma wanted in her hands, Mary Margaret was asking more than that. _Neverland? Fighting for our son, Regina telling me Henry was all she had, holding him with her on that ship..._

It stunned Emma. She hadn’t thought about it, had been so determined not to think about Regina at all, to avoid everything about her until just recently and Emma had been so successful, right up until that moment Regina found her in the woods with her magic out of control, and now here they were, and maybe it wasn’t so sudden after all. Agitated, Emma tucked her hair behind her ears. “Not long. Like a week?”

Mary Margaret’s smile sprang back, aquamarine eyes relieved, confused, almost irritated at the revelation. “And you’re telling me now? I mean… No, I’m glad! Emma, this means—It’s been a difficult time for you; you just got back and then you broke up with Hook, Elsa’s gone and you two were so close…”

Emma tensed like a bowstring, shoulders taut beneath her mother’s hands.

“Sometimes we need… we just… we make bad decisions, we sleep with people we wouldn’t usually—”

“Regina is not Dr Whale,” Emma hissed through gritted teeth.

“No of course not honey,” Mary Margaret dismissed, distracted. The short-haired woman paced then, index finger tapped to her lip, hand tucked beneath her bent elbow, a mad scientist with a scorched-earth solution. “So it didn’t work out with Hook but there are plenty of other people here. I know Red would be open--” A rapid heel-turn, her hands raised; “—No! You said no Ruby and I get that -- What about Michael Tillman?” Mary Margaret paced again. “He was nice, good job, obviously a family man…”

Emma folded her arms, affronted but somehow bleakly amused by her mother’s rambling.

“Or Tinkerbell!” A wide grin, an inappropriate disclosure, “I got the feeling she was that-way inclined in Neverland, every single time she talked to—” Mary Margaret blanched suddenly, greyed at the implication of Regina; quickly changed the subject. “—Aurora? I know she’s married to Phillip, but how happy can they really be?”

Scraping the bottom of the barrel sounded so much like nails on a blackboard, and Emma’s patience petered out.

Mary Margaret saw the shift, hurried on, “Granny’s too old, dwarves are too short – Kathryn or Mulan, or—”

“ _Kathryn_?” Emma interrupted, and she seethed because the woman had now overstepped, pissed on her point about strange entanglements. “ _Kathryn_ , as in the woman who was married to my dad -that’s not weird?”

Mary Margaret, whiter now than the flowers she’d been named for: “No, no you’re right that’s very weird.”

Emma’s jaw clenched and she scowled darkly. “I get that you’re angry Mary Margaret, I get that Regina hurt you and did a lot of things to ruin your life; I get that you lost things and you were scared all the time and you couldn’t go home – I get that, I do...” Emma shifted tensely on her heels, meant every empathetic word because she had always felt like that, long before Regina or Storybrooke came along. “But it’s not about that, Regina isn’t—”

Emma breathed thickly, exhaled the scent of ocean, bit back the rising tide in her salt-stung eyes. “This isn’t about hurting you, it’s—I don’t know what it is. I didn’t—” Emma scuffed her leather toe, almost whined: “I didn’t mean for this to happen y’know? Regina’s tried to kill me so many times and I know exactly who she is, who she _was_ and I didn’t—You think I wanted this? You think I planned this? I didn’t want Regina; if it wasn’t for Henry—”

“Henry!” Mary Margaret, stricken again - she wrung her wrists, the perfect wailing mother. “What if it’s a trick, Emma? What if Regina’s using you to get to him? I mean it’s not like she’s really his—”

“ _STOP,_ ” Emma snarled; a lioness, a growling bear, a fearsome, predatory mother who guarded everything she held sacred, everything _hers_.

Mary Margaret cowed, immediately ashamed and she reached for Emma’s arm, stopped because Emma crackled fire. “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry. Regina is Henry’s mother just as much as you are. You’re both his family. And we’re yours -- Regina is a part of this _family_ , Emma...”

It could have been an acceptance, a small concession but no, they were going round again.

Emma forced herself to exhale slowly, breath hissed. “You just offered me Dad’s ex-wife Mary Margaret, this is more than just a small town, you all came from the same damned book and you’re all tangled up in each other in some pretty screwed ways.” Emma re-folded her arms, Henry’s page dug sharply into her armpit. “And no one seemed to give a shit about any of that when I was dating a guy who spent decades ploughing my son’s grandmother.”

Mary Margaret stuttered, floundered. “Hook and Milah, they were-- they-- Hook never tried to—”

“Kill us? Pretty sure he did, pretty sure he tried multiple times, pretty sure it was mostly because of Cora and I know – I _know_ you forgave him for that, you _and_ David because you were practically planning my wedding by the time we got back from Neverland.” Emma cocked a pointed eyebrow. “Face it _Mom_ \- this town is ten-tonnes of fucked-up and there is no getting around that.”

Mary Margaret scoffed, waved a hand in dismissal but there was reservation in it. She had deflated slightly. “Relationships are always complicated Emma - but Regina takes it to another level. There’s evil in her, and she uses that to poison _everyone_ around her – _literally_.”

Emma seethed, shook, a tight cramp in her ribs. She didn’t know why but Emma kept finding reasons to argue _for_ Regina, to defend her, to fight for her when it would be so much easier just to agree with Mary Margaret and give in, to admit this was a moment of lust-filled insanity and be done with it, and wasn’t that why she came here? Yet she couldn’t, couldn’t bring herself to stop arguing - inside Emma a righteous rage, a heart-twisted tornado of reasons to keep going.

Emma pleaded, “Regina is a bad idea, I know that, I’ve told myself a thousand times so I don’t need you to tell me. I know Cora betrayed your mother, I know you betrayed Regina and Daniel died and she killed your father and you killed her mother. I know what you two did to each other, and I know how fucked-up this situation is for _all_ of us, maybe even Henry, I know—” A braided knot in her throat, and Emma couldn’t work her voice around it anymore.

“Then why are you doing this?” Mary Margaret asked, a whispered demand for answers. She had lost some of her bitter determination - Emma had never been Regina’s greatest advocate, sporadic in her support at best and the fight in her now was something different. That scared Mary Margaret, but clearly not as much as it scared her daughter. “Emma, everything you just said, everything about Regina - that’s why this could _never_ work.”

And Emma broke apart.

She shattered to a million tiny pieces, each one raw and jagged and wet. They fell from her chest, her mouth, her eyes, a deeply bloodied wound of emotion and she bent at the hips, hands barely caught to her own denim knees. “ _How can you say that_?! You don’t know that!”

Storm-churned eyes when Emma threw her head back; lightning flashed between them, a desperate need for _something_ , for Mary Margaret to be very wrong or very right Emma wasn’t sure, but she needed confirmation either way. “You’re always telling me to trust people, not to put up walls, that I should be open to love however it finds me and now I’m trying and you’re--”

“ _Wait_.” Mary Margaret’s word a gunshot, the piercing crack of thunder. “Emma… You think this is love?”

Emma reared back. “What? No! I don’t—” A stumbled retreat and the armchair stopped her, hit her calves and Emma bit her lip, eyes narrowed in irritation. “I didn’t say that.”

Mary Margaret’s eyebrows shot into her short hair. “You said the word, Emma. You said _love_.”

Emma scrubbed her face with her palms, Henry’s page scratched against her cheek. “I didn’t mean that, I don’t—I don’t know…” An annoyed pitch to Emma’s voice. “Yes, maybe? I don’t… I don’t know what that even is, Mary Margaret, I’m not—” She blew air though puffed cheeks. “I’ve been crap at this for twenty-nine years, because there’s only so much you can give out without getting anything back before you stop trying, and that happened when I was a kid and that was fine.”

Mary Margaret felt the half-lie, a clenched fist on her heart and she inched forward.

“And it saves a lot of time, y’know? I didn’t care what I was missing because it didn’t matter. And then I came here and I met you and Dad, and there’s Henry and…” Emma shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m learning, I guess – but I still don’t know what it feels like, what I’m supposed to do if I’m in it and I’m…” A ragged exhalation.

Mary Margaret was sheened tears, a strangled sob when she said: “Emma I am so, so sorry we weren’t there to teach you… I know we couldn’t show you how much we _always_ loved you but we did and we do, and you have to know--” She stopped herself then, because if she pushed too hard Emma wouldn’t hear her. “Emma, you do know how to love. You show Henry every day, and I know it’s hard but it’s there. Emma, there’s so much love in you…”

Emma’s head fell, a thick curtain of blonde hair, her chest protected as she held herself tightly. “Mom…” Emma’s voice was small and strained, sounded foreign to her own ears and Emma looked up, battered eyes pleading across the distance. “…What do I do?”

“Oh, honey…” Mary Margaret crossed the space between them, held tight to Emma’s collapsed shoulders. In that moment, Mary Margaret fought to swallow down too many decades of anger, a lifetime of bitter hurt shaped like Regina Mills because her daughter was frayed at the edges, threadbare and bruised and that mattered so much more than this legacy of hatred. “Honey, I don’t know. Relationships are tricky things, but if it’s love…”

Emma shook her head, wouldn’t let her mother draw up her eyes. “I don’t know that, how could I know that? I don’t—”

“You’d know, Emma. You would _absolutely_ know.”

Emma stared into the streaked sunshine of her mother’s smile, and shrugged up against Mary Margaret’s hands. “I don’t know anything, I don’t know what I want, I don’t know…” She shrugged again.  

Emma rolled her neck, fidgeted. “I guess… I feel like I’m not alone when I’m with her? It’s weird and it’s uncomfortable but it’s… _not_. And I wanna be there, like I don’t wanna jump in my car and just drive until I hit the Gulf of Mexico and maybe start swimming, I just wanna stay _here_ , with her and with Henry and you guys and I don’t-- I don’t know what that is... It’s what I want? I want whatever that is.”

Mary Margaret laughed like birds cooed against Emma’s ear, and pulled her daughter in for a hug. “That sounds a lot like love, Emma.”

Emma held on to her mother awkwardly, tightly, desperately; face buried in her short hair. “Yeah I guess.”

_Shit._

When Mary Margaret finally released her, Emma slumped back against the armchair and folded her arms again, cleared her throat nervously. “There’s something else…”

“Oh god you’re pregnant.”

Emma’s entire body scowled, face furrowed, a dark cloud on her mouth. “Yeah Mom, that’s exactly how this works.”

Her mother _giggled_ then, far too pleased with herself and Emma rolled her eyes but let it go on anyway, because Emma never thought they’d get to this point, not already; hadn’t known that she even wanted that to happen… And suddenly realised all over again that she might be in love with Regina Mills, and everything tilted, shifted wildly beneath Emma’s feet.

_I could love Regina._

_Fuck._

Emma unfolded Henry’s creased page with hands that shook. She thrust the paper at Mary Margaret and threw herself back into the armchair, pissed at the world suddenly for absolutely no good reason.

“What’s—Oh! Oh, Emma…” Mary Margaret sank down through Emma’s fixed glare, sat again on the hard floor. “This is—Where did you get this?”

“Henry,” Emma gravelled, surly, eyes burnt to Regina’s desk like she could incinerate it with her mind.

“Well…” Mary Margaret placed the Page open on the ground, shrugged lightly; tried to keep levity in her voice when she said: “At least if you’re ever under a sleeping curse and Henry’s not around, we know someone will be able to wake you up.”

Emma stared at her, glared. “You’re saying this is some kind of True Love bullshit?”

Mary Margaret leant back, confused by Emma’s vitriol. “I’m not saying anything, Emma - I don’t know what this is. Is it from the library Henry found? Those blank books?”

Emma shook her head but didn’t elaborate, and Mary Margaret frowned, went on anyway. “Well, I know it wasn’t in the Storybook _I_ gave him. And it doesn’t take a genius to see what’s going on in this picture.” Concerned, she asked, “Would it really matter if someone _meant_ for you and Regina to be together?”

That was an answer Emma didn’t have.

Emma pushed herself from the chair again, paced the office floor. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“ _True Love_?” Mary Margaret’s voice was high-pitched, incredulous. “Emma, you’ve experienced it with Henry. You’ve seen David and I—”

“Not the magic part,” Emma cut her off. “I mean the part where you’re supposed to be with someone, like it’s fated and you don’t get a choice in that, like it doesn’t even matter what you do because your feelings aren’t your own – I mean, why bother if it’s all out of our control?”

“Emma, that’s not how it works.”

“Isn’t it?” she snapped. “Because if the Author wrote Regina and I to be together then we’ll be together, but if it’s some kind of ploy, some plot point that makes for great reading but it’s gonna end badly, then…” Emma shrugged angry bones, helpless arms outstretched, “What if Regina’s right? What if I’m the Savior and she’s the Villain and that’s all we’re meant to be? What if—”

“What if you can’t make this work?” Mary Margaret said kindly, softly, just the smallest hint of compassion in her eyes so as not to rankle her daughter.

Emma froze, bit her lip hard enough to excuse the sting of tears. “What if it’s not _meant_ to work?”

Mary Margaret smiled at her, wistful and small. “None of us can know that, Emma. This Page, David and I—I never thought I’d be sitting here having a conversation with my recently re-discovered adult daughter about how she’s in love with the woman who tried to kill me for twenty-odd years. The future is a strange place.”

Grim humour curled Emma’s lip, and Mary Margaret went on.

“Emma, none of us ever really knows what’s going to happen. All we can do is try, and I don’t think it really matters if the Author wrote us as one thing or not – I can’t think that, because it means that people can’t change and I’ve seen that they can.” Mary Margaret crossed her legs, tucked her hands into her lap. “I’ve seen you change every day since you’ve been here, and Regina – she’s changed so much this last year; she’s… better. And I got worse, I killed Cora and I never thought I could do something as dark as that.”

Her mother’s voice croaked. Emma almost went to her but didn’t, and Mary Margaret recovered.

“But we change, Emma. We change and we fight and we fall in love, and we don’t always expect love to happen but that’s what makes it so important when it does. That’s why we have to keep trying, because maybe it doesn’t always work out the way we planned, but maybe it won’t work out the way anyone else planned either – maybe there isn’t a plan, maybe we just have to keep fighting and falling in love and that’s what matters.”

Mary Margaret shook her head, smile tinged with a strange sadness. “David and I – That is definitely True Love. But just because it’s magic doesn’t mean we don’t have to work at it. Magic doesn’t make the _magic_ happen. We’re so lucky, but it didn’t have to be that way. True Love comes in many forms, and it doesn’t mean you _have_ to be together or that you’ll never fall apart – Just look at Regina and Robin Hood.”

Emma quirked a deliberate eyebrow -- _No thanks I’d rather not._

Her mother gave a small, apologetic smile. “Honey, I don’t know if you and Regina will work out. But if she makes you happy, then I hope so, I hope that so much for you -- And you will always have a choice. It’s just that, if it _is_ True Love, it makes that choice _a whole lot_ easier.”

Emma pushed her hands into her back pockets, shoulders squeezed against the itch in her spine that had grown as her mother spoke, skin flushed, a swirled heat in her stomach as if she was allergic to the whole conversation, like emotional hives. But Emma knew that wasn’t it – it was the opposite; a certainty that clicked into place at Mary Margaret’s words.

This was why Emma came here. This was what she needed. This was what she’d hoped for.

Regina was all Emma wanted.

Mary Margaret saw it in her daughter’s face, in the moment Emma’s eyes cleared and the creases fell away - a younger, lighter Emma, like she’d never had the weight of the world forced down on her. The short-haired woman smiled, a little teary, a little foolish because it was the kind of successful mothering that shouldn’t still feel like a triumph but did, because her daughter was all grown up and had done it without her.

Mary Margaret pushed to her feet, an ache in her bones that felt like every one of her curse-frozen years had caught up with her, and she put out her arms -- Emma hesitated, but her mother expected that and she waited, until Emma walked into her embrace and she folded Emma up tightly, sniffled into her hair unabashed. “You should go,” Mary Margaret whispered, knew Emma was already halfway out the door.

“Yeah.” Emma squeezed her mother tighter, lingered in her warmth. “Thanks.”

Mary Margaret stepped back, wiped her wet cheeks. “That’s what I’m here for, Emma. I know it’s still strange, but I am your mother. And… I’m sorry I reacted so badly at first. It was just… a shock.”

“For me too,” Emma smiled ruefully. “Wait ‘til you talk to Dad.”

“No no,” Mary Margaret shook her head. “ _You_ get to tell him.”

“He--” Emma stopped, turned on her heel and hurried to the office door. Hand on the knob, she said over her shoulder, “Dad already knows. Bye!”

Emma shut wood-and-glass behind her, ignored her screeched name and made a hasty exit. As she emerged from Town Hall into the too-bright sun, Emma pulled her phone from her pocket and considered texting David to warn him; smirked to herself instead and messaged Regina.

                                _‘Meet at Granny’s in half an hour?’_

As she waited for a response, Emma made a quick call to Michael Tillman at his garage. When that was done, Emma checked the time, pulled up Henry’s number and dialled. He wasn’t supposed to have his phone with him at school, but the teachers tended not to question the son of the Evil Queen and the Saviour, and Emma knew Henry used that. It was lunchtime and he answered.

“Mom? Is everything OK?”

“Yeah kid,” Emma soothed. “How’s your day?”

“Um… good? I’m at school, Ma – it’s _school_ \-- Why are you calling me? You never call-- Did something happen with Mom?”

Emma’s brow quirked - Henry sounded less panicked, more like he was fishing. “No kid, everything’s fine - I’m fine, your Mom’s fine. Listen…” Emma cleared her throat, checked the street before she crossed to her Bug. “I’m sorry I ducked your call the other night. I feel pretty bad about that.”

“Yeah you should,” Henry accused, but also teased; and Emma released a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “You sure everything’s ok…?”

“Yes Henry, I did show Regina the Page,” Emma answered his real question. She rolled her eyes, begrudgingly marvelled again how much like Regina Henry could be, because subtlety wasn’t something he’d learnt from her. “Kid, your mom and I need to talk about that some more. How’d you feel about staying with the Tillmans tonight? Impromptu sleepover, Friday night shenanigans…”

A long silence met her as Emma opened her driver’s door, folded her knees beneath the Bug’s wheel. “Henry? Still there kid?”

“Yeah…” His voice had changed, sounded strained, dejected. “Did I… Did I do something wrong? Is Mom—”

“She’s fine,” Emma said again, pushed reassurance into her voice. “We’re both fine Henry, we just need to talk.”

“And you’re… You’re not running away?”

Emma’s smile was small, wry and she shook her head because Henry was a smart kid, too smart, and it kept getting worse as he got older. They were going to have a total pain in the ass on their hands for at least the next twenty years, and damn if that didn’t sound good to Emma right now. “No kid. I’m not going anywhere, I said that - we just have to figure something out and your grandparents… They need some downtime; the baby--”

Henry stopped her, sensed an upcoming lie. “Right -- It’s ok. I’m good at the Tillmans’.”

“Cool.” Emma started the Bug, let it idle.

“You _are_ going talk to me about this tomorrow though, right?”

Emma grinned. _Regina better be ready…_ “Yeah kid, tomorrow. Michael’ll drop you home in the morning.”

“Ok. What about this afternoon?”

Relieved he’d let the whole issue slide for now, Emma dropped her car into gear. “Just go with Ava and Nick. I’m dropping off a bag at the garage for you now.”

“Ok.” Henry sounded like he wasn’t done, so Emma waited. “…Emma?”

“Yeah kid?”

“It’s a good page. The one I gave you - I really like it. I think it’s better than any of them, even the ones with Snow White and Prince Charming.”

Emma choked up a little, made sure not to let Henry hear; a brief, sweet silence. “Yeah kid. I liked it too.” She cleared her throat. “We’ll call you tonight.”

Henry scoffed, mischievous again. “If you have to, but The Tillmans bought a Wii so I probably won’t answer.”

“Dude, homework or your mom’ll kill me…”

“Bye Ma.”

Henry hung up on her, and Emma chuckled and dropped the phone into her lap, pulled the Bug away from the kerb. Her phone vibrated against her thigh -- _Regina…_ Emma pulled over to read the text.

                                _‘No, I’m quite busy. Is Henry ok?’_

Emma rolled her eyes, knew Regina’s days had been desperately empty since Mary Margaret took her office as Mayor. She dashed back a reply:

                                _‘Kid’s fine, I’m meeting you for lunch. Put down the iron & step away from the curtains - nobody irons curtains’_

Emma waited, and a second later her phone buzzed with a very expected response:

                                _‘Go to hell.’_

Emma chuckled, replied and pulled back onto the road. Henry needed that bag.

*

Regina was perched on a stool in her kitchen, arms folded, the phone on her marble countertop fixed in her dark glare.

Beside Regina was absolutely not an ironing board, and it was certainly not draped with heavy curtains from her upstairs sitting room. She had definitely not already ironed every other piece of linen in her house.

The phone buzzed, vibrated itself across the stone before she angrily snatched it up.

                                ‘See you in 30, _dear_ ’

Regina cursed under her breath, threw her phone down again and sat in silent determination, fumed.

Her smile started surreptitiously, traitorously; crept across her face, a wilfully conquering army and Regina sniffed primly, forced herself to stand slowly, walked casually towards the staircase.

_Emma…_

She took the stairs two at a time, practically at a run.

No one would ever know but her.

Regina Mills was far too refined for that.

*****


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Regina fixed her lipstick in the Merc’s rearview mirror, primped and smoothed her dark hair; loosened another button on her white shirt low between her breasts, revealing the deep-red edge of lace. Her smirk crept higher, wickedly scarlet."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I sat down to write this pure fluff and... I don't know what happened. Regina just... she... 
> 
> Any complaints, direct them at her. And good luck with that -- Regina bites.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_31\. [ Tighter than I thought I wanted ]_ **

Regina pulled up in front of Granny’s Diner, perfectly on time. There was no sign of the hideous yellow Bug or the woman who drove it. Emma was perpetually late, enthusiastically unprepared and usually it drove Regina to distraction, but today she was unable to raise enough ire for even a clenched jaw.

She fixed her lipstick in the Merc’s rearview mirror, primped and smoothed her dark hair; loosened another button on her white shirt low between her breasts to reveal the deep-red edge of lace. Her smirk crept higher, wickedly scarlet.

Regina stepped from the car and smoothed her clothes with both hands -- she had dressed for the populace and the occasion, a careful mix of power-suit casual; white shirt tucked into tightly-tailored charcoal pants, high-heeled ankle boots, a fitted calf-length crimson wool jacket that both warmed and showed-off her body.

Her boots clacked on the pavement, rapped on Granny’s formica floor, tattooed her arrival beneath the frantic tinging of the bell. People looked up but there was little open hostility, barely the smallest lull in conversation, and even Granny managed to look mostly disinterested when Regina unbuckled her coat and took her once-favoured seat at the counter.

“Coffee to go?” the old woman gruffed.

Regina shook her head, eyes narrowed at the presumptive impudence and a stinging castigation rose in her throat. But it fled her, and Regina found herself simply saying, “No, someone will be joining me. But I will take a cup of the _blackest_ coffee you can manage.”

Granny seemed surprised, mildly put out but moved on and gave the order to a young girl Regina didn’t recognise, who stood nervously at a distance. Regina thought she heard the words ‘ _black as her heart’_ , but couldn’t bring herself to care. It was coffee either way.

Regina lost herself in the worn countertop while she waited, outwardly calm but internally filled with a kind of fizzed excitement, effervescently content. She was _happy_. It was strange after so long, more pronounced by its extended absence and it ballooned inside her, made it occasionally difficult to breathe.

Regina no longer denied the cause – It was Emma; Emma Swan who had always been her nemesis, her arch-rival, the thorn in Regina’s side now pierced her heart like a scalpel, the kind that cut away dead tissue for the healthy flush below.

It was a foolish notion, but she embraced it.

Her coffee arrived and the girl scurried away again, and Regina held the cup in both hands, breathed deeply the rich nutty aroma of good beans in an otherwise plain setting, sipped with relish. It was nice to be able to just sit here again, to enjoy a quiet moment alone surrounded by people who weren’t poised to become a lynch mob. It had been years since Regina had the luxury, and she knew it wouldn’t last. It would end in Emma.

_Everything begins and ends with Emma Swan._

It was true of so many things in Regina’s life; curses and drawn-out lies, the reign of the Evil Queen over her heart, quiet days and lonely nights – soon enough, privacy. Adding the town’s sweetheart Savior to her own notoriety was an equation for disaster, so whileever they could hide, for as long as they could keep this _whatever it was_ to themselves, at least it was safe. It was just hers. Hers and Emma’s.

_Ours._

_Together._

_If she ever gets here..._

Regina sipped her drink again, turned her head swiftly when Granny’s doorbell jangled and there was Emma Swan. Regina hid her telling smile behind her cup, lips out of control and it wouldn’t do to show the blonde, or the people of Storybrooke how happy she was to see her.

Emma strode in, obviously aware she was late but clearly uncaring, her jaw a jutted challenge and Regina merely rolled disdainful eyes, swallowed more coffee. Emma grinned then, slow and heated, and it restricted Regina’s throat, sent a spray of hot liquid into her lungs and she choked, coughed discreetly, tried to hide it as Emma’s hips swam into her peripheral vision -- too close, too cocky; Emma’s hand brushed against Regina’s spine.

“Hey.”

Regina said nothing, and Emma slid onto the stool next to her, boot heels hooked on the chrome foot rung, knees spread too wide. For someone so lanky, Emma Swan took up a lot of space and Regina knew this was deliberate; tucked her legs primly together until their bodies stopped touching. She leant her elbows on the counter and all but sank into her coffee cup.

“You’re late,” she intoned brusquely, eyes fixed on Granny’s selection of cakes, not the loose-plaid, leather-and-denim woman beside her, because she was dressed too casually to look this good and at least the heat of the coffee forgave the flush of Regina’s cheeks.

“I had a thing,” Emma replied unashamedly; leant over and spoke too close to Regina’s ear, “You look good.”

Regina felt the wash of green eyes flow over her white collar, trickle down between her breasts and she cleared her throat pointedly, hid the red smirk that had stained her white cup. “Eyes on your own work, Miss Swan.”

Emma snorted, checked the counter for wait staff and spotted the young woman half-hidden in the doorway to the kitchen. Emma suggested, too brightly, “Shots?”

Regina turned her head, a disapproving brow. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, I hardly think that’s appropriate. Besides, one of us has to pick Henry up from school.” Regina set her coffee cup on the counter with a thunk, stared at Emma’s cheekbone, noted the stiff bulge of muscle at her jaw. “I thought we were having lunch?”

“This is lunch,” Emma said, and tried to coax the reluctant waitress to her. “Henry’s going home with the Tillmans’ tonight. Oh – and I just told Mary Margaret about us.”

Regina was a wide-eyed glare, a sharp shock of disbelief, twisted mouth in a stiffened cage of anger. “You _what?_ ”

“Shots?” Emma forced again, just as brightly as before despite the acidic bite of Regina’s fury. She waggled two fingers at the nervous girl, who moved quickly for glasses.

Regina barked back over her shoulder: “Hold that order.” Her eyes never left Emma’s face. “You _what?_ ” she asked again, voice a vicious whisper. “Emma… What were you thinking?”

Emma shrugged, gaze fixed on her fiddled hands. “That it was time, I guess?”

“Time for what?” Regina hissed. “Time to get rid of me? Time for your parents to hang me up in Town Square?”

“Do we even have a Town Square?” Emma asked. “We have guns now, so they’d probably just shoot you - no need for a show.”

A strangled exhalation; Regina pulled her hands into her lap beneath the counter, fingers clawed and clenched as if magic crackled between them.

Time was the thing she’d wanted, time to figure out at least _something_ of what was happening here, about how they would make it work, _if_ they could make this work; time to prepare herself and Henry – _oh, Henry!_ – for whatever came next.

Regina knew time had been stolen from them the minute Charming blundered into that Clock Tower, but still this – _this_ was a decision she should have at least had a _say_ in. It affected her, changed _her_ life and at the very least she deserved a warning, a conversation before Emma went ahead and exposed her like this. Too many big decisions had been taken from Regina in the past and Emma knew that - Regina shook with it now; sickened, stunned.

_Of all the pig-headed, impetuous, asinine—_

“You didn’t think maybe we should’ve talked about this first?” Regina’s volume rose again despite the pinched hold on her pharynx, voice rough. “That it might be _polite_ to let me know what you planned to do?” Too many sets of eager eyes bore into Regina’s steel-rod spine, and she resented everything about this moment, this setting, this woman next to her who seemed so unaffected by what she had done.

“I never _planned_ it, I just…” Emma turned, glared over her shoulder and heads swivelled, eyes darted away, so many poor attempts at looking disinterested. Emma muttered, “Shit, this was a bad idea.”

“ _Now_ you’re a rocket scientist?” Regina snarled, and stood; reached for the ties of her jacket and buckled them tightly. She no longer cared who heard, nothing new in what she was about to say or who she said it to. “Perhaps if you thought more about the consequences of your actions and less about fulfilling whatever frivolous need flutters into your head at any given time, you would avoid plaguing your life with these _messy_ situations, Miss Swan – and mine.”

Regina flicked her hair from her face, pulled up the collar of her coat and strode majestically away. The rabble watched her go, and though Regina’s cheeks burnt she managed to keep the wetness from her eyes, more of a mad glisten as she yanked the door and left.

On the diner’s second step, the bronze bell shrieked behind her and wood crashed, and Regina knew it was Emma, knew the heavy tread of her boots so well as she ran; and then her desperate -- _“Regina, wait!”_ like terrible déjà vu, a mistake Emma had made so many times before but this one was painfully, disintegratingly worse.

“Regina!”

Emma’s hand gripped her arm, pulled and Regina whipped away, twisted from her. “Not now!” she shouted, voice raw and broken, and Emma hesitated just long enough for Regina to escape Granny’s open courtyard; made a sharp turn on the pavement past her car, too angry and shaken to drive.

“ _Regina…_ ”

Heavy boots again, Emma’s long legs ate the distance and Regina wasn’t about to run, lengthened the angry stride that would ward anyone else away.

Not Emma. Her arm slipped around Regina’s waist, mouth against her hair -- _“Regina, please--”_ , and it hurt like a drug.

Regina faltered, found herself pulled to Emma’s side, drawn away to a service alley between the diner and shop, Emma’s hand slipped into hers, fingers held tightly. Far enough from Granny’s kitchen, from windows and the prying eyes of upstairs guests, Emma released her; and Regina crossed her arms furiously, nails dug to the heaved distention of her ribs.

“Regina, I’m… I’m sorry.” Emma’s eyes nervous, her apologetic mouth, jaw set in determination, penance. “I didn’t think—”

Regina started to loose bitter words from her tongue but Emma’s raised hand stopped her.

“I know, I know I never think, I just do things and you cop the fallout, I know that. I should’ve talked to you first, because it’s about you and I should’ve asked you it’s just…” Emma ran a shaky hand through blonde hair. “I didn’t know why I went there, I didn’t plan on doing it I just needed to figure something out and Mary Margaret… She’s my Mom, and I know you two aren’t each other’s biggest fans--”

Regina snorted, a ragged exhalation through flared nostrils, eyes that wetly stung.

“I’m sorry, ok? I just thought… I thought it was time.” Emma’s voice dropped to a whisper; an uncertain hand reached out and ghosted the tie that cinched Regina’s stiff waist. “Time for this, time for… _us._ ”

Regina jerked away, retreated almost to brickwork, a dark glare, angry despite the thrill that shivered at the base of her neck, prickled enticingly through her hair. Emma’s shoulders slumped, head hung a curtain of blonde between them, her hands tucked automatically, dejectedly into her pockets.

In the cold alley, Emma shivered, gooseflesh visible at her collarbone and Regina almost moved to rub Emma’s thinly covered arms but stopped herself, inwardly sneered. It wasn’t fair that she still cared about this, shouldn’t matter that Emma hadn’t brought a coat -- Emma never brought a coat, never thought ahead, never planned for anything in the future and that was the problem.

Regina thrust her chilled hands under her crossed arms and seethed silently, didn’t trust her own tongue, had no idea what would exit her mouth if not for gritted teeth because ninety per cent of her wanted to scream endlessly at Emma for not waiting, for not warning her, for not thinking of her in this decision that affected them both, affected _all_ of them because Henry was a huge part of this; for rarely thinking before she opened her obdurate mouth.

But the rest of Regina was obscenely traitorous, purely vindictive to her current mood. All it wanted was to be pressed against Emma, to fall into her mouth and her arms and her maddening body. It wanted to tell Emma what this meant, _how much_ this meant, Emma’s bold solidification of a connection Regina thought was impossible, this thing that had suddenly become something like a relationship and Emma was running towards it, not away. Regina wanted to drag Emma back into the diner by her plaid shirt, to kiss her on Granny’s countertop while the town exploded around them, reduced to ashes in torches thrown by an angry mob.

“You should have warned me,” Regina strangled out, a swallowed sob, and the vein in her forehead thumped the lingered oscillation of hurt and fear. “I deserved to be a part of this decision. It was important -- And you took that from me.”

Emma’s eyes crashed into her like a storm, salt-washed and stricken. “Shit… I didn’t even think about—I’m fucked at this Regina. I’ve never done this before and I’m not getting it right, I know that.”

Regina shook her head, sniffed; chagrin in her pinched mouth. But a reluctant curve brushed her lips when she agreed, “No, you’re not.”

_Yes you are._

_You’re still here. And I don’t know how to do this either._

_But I suppose we can figure it out._

Regina sighed and pushed off the wall, approached Emma, said plaintatively, “Henry…”

Emma scuffed a boot on the dirty cement. “Yeah, we should talk about that. You know he knows, right?”

Regina dropped her head, a pained sound from her restricted throat that she couldn’t hold back, breath that shook.

“Or he thinks he does,” Emma rushed on, “ – he’s a smart kid, but it’s not like he knows everything. He’s still just a kid.” She cleared her throat, added reluctantly, “But he made me promise we’d talk to him tomorrow.”

“ _Tomorrow_? Emma…” Regina’s dark eyes frantic, and this time she walked straight into Emma, pressed against her body, hands clutched to the front of Emma’s plaid shirt and then Emma’s relieved arms were around her and it seemed slightly less daunting. It was just too soon.

But it had to be tomorrow - Mary Margaret knew; soon everyone would know. Because even if that woman suddenly developed the capacity to keep a secret, Regina realised now, in Emma’s arms, in this bleak alley, that this _thing_ would not be kept under wraps. Emma could not be kept, Regina would not be kept and as much as privacy mattered, something else mattered more.

Regina wanted to be free to brush the hair from Emma’s face in a crowded room, for Emma to touch the small of her back if they ever made it to a restaurant, to hold Henry and Emma at the same time without having to look as though Emma was in the way.

Regina wanted _everything._

And it was a terrible idea, and it would no doubt cost her dearly but that was what Regina wanted.

She slid her hands over the thin cotton of Emma’s chest, along her throat to her jaw, fingers caught in strands of blonde and Emma’s groaned approval rumbled through her. She pulled Emma’s head back for her mouth, kissed her delicately at first, tentatively; tongue darted to taste lips that fell open at the touch. Regina traced the soft edges with her tongue, the bow and arch, in this place too public to be private and when Emma moaned softly Regina kissed her with fury, with longing; kissed her like she meant it.

Emma’s hands cupped Regina’s ass, clawed her back, grabbed for her hair and Regina’s hand fisted in blonde, her palm crushed against Emma’s breast; she made a passion play of Emma’s mouth, all danced tongue and teased retreat. Regina’s breath was too heavy, need swollen in her throat and between her thighs and when Emma moved, crashed them against the wall Regina almost let this go too far, knee hooked over Emma’s denim hip, Emma’s thigh pushed right where Regina needed it to be.

But she forced space between them, hands firm on Emma’s shoulders; shook her tousled head against the brickwork, mouth pained.

“There’s no one here,” Emma panted, argued; double-checked the alley against the bright light of day. She pushed herself into Regina’s palms. “It’s fine, we’re alone.”

Regina raised an arch eyebrow, head tilted from Emma’s urgent mouth, and for once Regina wished she wasn’t so sensible. “I know the town will find out about us, but I hardly think this is the best way.”

“Screw the town,” Emma growled, a wicked grin on her kiss-bruised mouth. “There’s enough magic in the both of us to turn them into hood ornaments if it becomes a problem.”

Regina’s brow shot higher, and a wide smile broke across her face. “Why Miss Swan, you certainly are _dark_ when you’re aroused.”

“Horny, Regina – the word is horny.” Emma kissed her curved throat, nipped gently and breath hissed from Regina’s clenched teeth. “I’ve kinda wanted to fuck you in an alley for a very long time.”

Regina chuckled more like a purr, low and breathy and rumbled. “In the middle of the afternoon? I don’t think so, Emma. That kind of business deserves the cover of _night_.”

Emma fell against her at the oblique promise, clearly collapsed, a tortured sound and Regina wrapped arms around her automatically, laughed quietly at the lazy grind of Emma’s no-longer-cold body.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Emma whispered against her shoulder, teeth dug in painfully to make her point.

“Not while you’re still useful.” Regina kissed Emma’s blonde hair and pushed her away. “I thought you promised me lunch?”

Emma’s stomach grumbled on queue and she glared at it, “Traitor.” She eyed Regina warily. “You still good with Granny’s? I know—It wasn’t the best time or place to spring that on you, sorry. But the food’s… _there_ , and I wasn’t kidding about those shots.”

Regina rolled her eyes, shrugged; tucked her arm into Emma’s elbow and led her back towards the sunlit street. “Granny’s is fine. It’s not like we haven’t fought like that before. Besides,” she said, turned to examine the look of wonder still stuck on Emma’s face at their linked arms, “It’s good to keep the peasants on their toes. Can’t have them thinking their _Queen_ is going soft.”

“Nope,” Emma agreed, stole one last brief kiss before the open air caught them. “That wouldn’t be right at all.”

*****

****

**_32._** **_[ Closer… ]_ **

Emma had started with a burger and beer; Regina fresh coffee and something between pasta and salad, delivered to their more discreet end booth by the skittish waitress. Now they’d moved on to a rapidly demolished basket of fries, and enough shots between them that the light buzz shifted conversation from serious to silly between breaths.

The nervous girl was replaced at some point by a young woman Emma referred to as Ruby-Lite, and though it was not particularly late, the sky outside Granny’s Diner had dimmed through the afternoon. Twilight approached, early with the cold.

“It’s not that I don’t get that it’s better to live in a place where you can see the floor, or where you _want_ to see the floor, it’s just that I never gave a shit if Henry left his towels around before and now… Ever since you put that whammy on me and sent us off to New York, suddenly I care. I care _a lot_ , like the other day I actually told Henry I’d ground him if I saw another towel or socks or any other item of whatever on the floor, and that’s just—well it’s not _me_.” Emma stabbed the air with her fry accusingly. “That’s _you_ , Regina; that’s all you.”

Regina folded her hands primly on the table, eyes glittered with mischief that she swallowed down. “Why, whatever are you implying, _dear?”_

Emma chewed the fry, leant over the table, elbows sharp on its surface. “I’m saying that you put a little extra somethin’-somethin’ in that spell of yours. _I’m_ saying, that I think you tried to magic me into Susie Homemaker before you sent me off with our son.” Emma crashed back against the padded booth, arms folded, suspicious eyebrow cocked.

Regina smiled enigmatically, reached out across the table and brushed her thumb against the corner of Emma’s mouth, partly to remove smeared ketchup but mostly because it startled Emma away from deeper thought. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said smoothly. “Clearly I’ve made no impact on your ability to become a functioning adult.”

Emma’s fingers trailed absently over Regina’s wrist, stayed loosely against her own cheek when Regina pulled away. Regina smirked, waved delicate digits at Ruby-Lite and the waitress grabbed the neck of a bottle in a weary hand, circled the counter.

Emma was still frozen, eyes burnt to Regina and Regina smiled at Ruby-Lite, rested her hand dismissively on the waitress’ forearm before she poured their next drinks. “Just leave the bottle, dear.”

Ruby-Lite startled at the touch; eyes flickered between Savior and the Evil Queen, and she dropped the bottle gratefully, fled.

“Perhaps my parenting skills are simply _rubbing_ off on you, Emma?” Regina intoned, and refilled their shots daintily.

“Something’s rubbin’ at me,” Emma muttered.

Regina rolled her eyes and raised her glass. “To less towels on the floor.”

Emma huffed her exasperation, clinked anyway.

The tequila was almost too smooth, enough that accoutrements were unnecessary, a rich slide down the throat followed by a delicious burn on the tongue. They had made a fair dent in the bottle, Emma realised now; lingered longer than either had planned, through the lull following lunch and dinner service was about to invite more unwelcomed crowding. Still she had no urge to move, and apparently neither did Regina. The woman had removed her coat, slung it on the bench beside her, and now Emma heard the dual thunks of her boots kicked off beneath the table.

“Comfy?” Emma asked, grin askew.

Regina shook her head, cheeks flushed pink with alcohol and the warmer diner air. “Not really. I’d prefer to be naked right now, but I don’t think Granny or her customers would appreciate that.”

Emma disagreed, knew the sight of Regina Mills without clothes on would be enough to turn any head, any person of any predilection into a Regina devotee, an obsession with olive skin and taut muscle, soft breasts and a perfectly rounded ass and Emma licked her lips unconsciously, shook her head. “I think you’re wrong. Which is a problem.”

“Oh? Jealous, Miss Swan…?” Regina smiled dangerously, slid one finger into the gaped opening of her shirt, down along the edge of red lace. “So… What are we going to say to Henry tomorrow?”

Emma snapped from her fixation with a lazy fingertip, flinched back. “Seriously? You’re gonna get me worked up and then ask about Henry?”

Regina laughed, both hands flat on the table. “Oh Emma - just wait until you’re in the mood and Henry has a thousand questions about his homework. Or in the middle of… _a moment_ , and suddenly you’re dealing with a stomach ache and more of his vomit than even _your_ libido could handle.”

Emma scrunched her face tightly, sprawled back against the vinyl and crossed her arms. “Ugh - why did we even have a kid?”

Regina stuttered, hesitated; smiled slowly, warmly, with her whole body. “I think our answers to that are very separate stories, Emma.”

Emma realised what she’d said, the implication of it, the history re-writing entanglement and for a second her mind shrieked, but she snapped at it to _shut up_ and reached for the bottle. Emma shrugged one shoulder as she poured. “Whatever. You get to do the vomit thing, I’m not down for that.”

Regina’s eyes glistened, but she blinked it away before Emma noticed. “We’ll see.”

Emma raised her glass and they drank again, and she considered Regina’s previous question with a fuzzier head. “I don’t know what to say to Henry.” Emma shrugged. “‘Hey kid, you’re moms are dating now, congratulations.’? I mean, it’s fine, right? Kid’s seen more drag queens and queers in New York than hotdog stands, and it’s not like anyone here seems to give a shit about it.”

Emma furrowed her brow. “Hey why is that? Storybrooke isn’t exactly gay central, but Mary Margaret didn’t blink about Elsa, and she’s—Is it the species thing? Like, once you’ve dated a werewolf or a fairy or a dwarf, two chicks seems kind of… inconsequential?”

Emma laughed then, because her mouth barely made it around the pentasyllabic word, and she never noticed the irritation that darkened Regina’s face, simply poured more tequila.

Regina leant on the table, hands laced tightly against its shiny surface. “And what exactly would Mary Margaret have to _blink_ about with Elsa, Emma?”

Emma waved her off, a dismissive _pffft_. “She said Elsa and I should get together at the mansion – I think she just wants to marry me off, the whole _Happily Ever After_ thing and she’s ready for it to be anyone – Elsa, Ruby, Mulan, one of the dwarves…”

A thick shadow crossed Regina’s face, wounded vexation and she drew away. “You mean, anyone but me,” she corrected coolly, jaw steeled against it, eyes a rusted mix of anger and offense.     

Emma paused with her hand in the basket of fries, raised her eyes to Regina’s poorly masked hurt and swore under her breath. “Wow – I really keep fucking this up, don’t I?” Emma wiped her greasy hand on her jeans and Regina never flinched, so Emma knew it was bad.

Emma reached across the table, grabbed Regina’s hand and held it tightly, thumb rubbed secretly across her knuckles – Emma didn’t actually give a fuck who saw, but they still needed to talk to Henry. “Listen Regina, I’m sorry… but you knew Mary Margaret wouldn’t want me to be with you, it was always gonna be a problem – _you_ said it was gonna be a problem and yeah, she offered me a townful of people she’d rather I be with but that wasn’t her choice, it wasn’t open for discussion and she knows that. She accepts that now.”

Regina gripped Emma’s hand so tightly that their knuckles ground together, her voice a hissed whisper that rose viciously with each sentence. “What do you mean she _offered people_ to you? Are you saying… Are you saying she tried to bring you alternative dates, like some sort of _procurement_ service? As if I might be _swapped out_ for any other person in this town? Did she try to marry you off to a more appropriate suitor so that I had no _claim_ against you?”

“No one’ll ever have a claim against me Regina,” Emma snapped. But she relented, knew Regina’s anger was for her and not about her; it came from another place, another land, another lifetime and Emma shrugged, a pinched crease to her face. “It was more… She’s like a pimp, I guess?”

Regina was billowed smoke as she rose, flame in her eyes and Emma shot to her feet, alarmed. She lurched across the table, hands on Regina’s furious shoulders and held her there, stroked and soothed the crackled fire from her. “Hey it’s ok. It was just a crazy moment and Mary Margaret-- she panicked.” Emma implored her with needful eyes, quirked humour forced into her worried mouth. _There’s no coming back from Regina killing my parents._ “I mean c’mon – she offered me _Kathryn_ , she was obviously pretty desperate.”

Regina raged, wanted to set Mary Margaret on fire, needed to punch her in her prissy, self-righteous face but it would not help, would not prove anything other than the woman was right to fear her, to fear for her daughter.

Regina sagged under Emma’s hands, head hung and she forced herself into slow, deep breaths behind thick hair. She grasped Emma’s wrists, stroked her thumbs against the rigid bone, soothing circles that grounded her again. Eventually, she took Emma’s hands from her shoulders, squeezed them before she let Emma go. Regina returned stiffly to her seat, and Emma followed soon after.

Fingers still white-knuckled on her full shot glass, Regina asked wryly, “Snow White really offered you your father’s ex-wife?”

And Emma lost it, a violent guffaw that startled the couple who had just walked in, fear on panicked faces. “I know right? Like that’s something I want to have in common with my father.” Emma raised her drink. “Here’s to fucked-up relationships.”

Regina clinked enthusiastically; knew one day she’d have to confess to Emma that she’d kissed an amnesic Charming, but today was certainly not that day.

Liquor chased away the last of Regina’s anger, and she reached for fries, chewed them thoughtfully. “I suppose until we know what Henry knows, or what he _thinks_ he knows, there’s not much we can actually plan for…” Regina paused, swallowed heavily against starch and the thickness that rose in her throat before her next sentence. “Except… _He_ might want to know what _this_ is, what… What _this_ means; this--”

“This _relationship_?” Emma rescued her, a wry smile on crooked lips because Regina fished badly, but it was good to know there were some things Regina Mills was _terrible_ at.

Regina was clearly relieved, guiltily looked away.

“Yeah, about that…” Emma leant on the table, reached across and took Regina’s hand, held it loosely, fingertips laced together. “You know I… I mean I…” Emma’s heart a wild stampede, it roared through her chest, up the long tunnel of her throat and Emma caught a flash of Regina’s hopeful eyes, looked away again…

Her courage fled. “I care _a lot_ about you, Regina. I want to be with you, I want to make this work, I want us to be a family – You, me and Henry. And I don’t know how we’ll work it out exactly, but I’m open to anything, and I wanna try.”

Regina’s heart fell only a little, too exuberantly high for three little words to matter too much because she knew Emma felt them, knew they were thick in her mouth and Regina didn’t mind waiting because Granny’s Diner wasn’t the place for them anyway.

The first time Emma Swan said _I love you_ , it would be when they were alone. Regina would shout it back because she struggled to hold it in now. Every time after that, it could be here or there or anywhere, said over tequila and greasy food or bone china and expensive wine; through fights and laughter and mundane chores like dried dishes.

So Regina smiled now; beamed like a lighthouse, all saltwater eyes and the ridged shoreline of vein on her forehead pulsed with emotion. Regina said softly, “I want that too.”

Emma grinned foolishly, felt like an embarrassed teenager, all awkwardness and hormones and an impossibly raced heart. She beat the urge to throw herself across the booth, to kiss Regina until the whole town, the whole _State_ knew how disgustingly happy she felt – but only just. Instead, Emma flicked her eyes to the tabletop, felt the rising flush in her cheeks. “Good. Then I guess that’s what we tell Henry.”

Regina pushed her fingers further through Emma’s, tangled deeper together. “I suppose—”

“Emma!”

Both blonde and brunette turned swiftly, confronted by an awkward Mary Margaret who clutched tightly to her husband - David’s face was carefully blank.

“… Mom, how did-- …Hi Dad.”

Regina tried to tug her hand away but Emma grabbed it back, held tighter; asked stiffly, “What brings you guys here?”

“We just dropped the baby off with Granny,” Mary Margaret forced brightly. “With Henry and _you_ gone, David and I thought we might take advantage of our time alone.”

Emma’s brain screamed _gross_ , because apparently she was a petulant teenager and there was no getting around that.

“What a _lovely_ idea,” Regina responded tightly, voice strained, hand gripped harder to Emma’s.

“Isn’t it though?” Mary Margaret sneered, and the tension ratcheted, thrummed to a high-pitched whine. Emma stroked Regina’s knuckles with her thumb, but if either woman noticed, they didn’t let on.

“Emma tells me you’ve had a _great many_ good ideas lately,” Regina gritted dangerously. “A whole _list_ of them, in fact.”

“ _OK_!” Emma puffed fiercely, and pushed herself to her feet. “Why don’t we all just admit this is a little weird and work on not killing each other?”

“Agreed,” David boomed; nodded at Emma, and at her pleading eyes he turned to his wife, drew her around slowly until she faced him. “Mary Margaret, we talked about this – _you_ talked about this already, with our _daughter_.”

The pixie-haired woman’s face softened immediately, shoulders slumped and she exhaled, turned back to the booth with regretful eyes. “Sorry Emma – Regina – it’s just… It’s just a shock. But I’ll get used to it,” she said brightly again, and it almost sounded true. “In fact, we’d like to invite you to lunch tomorrow!”

Emma balked; Regina reeled in horror, though her face showed only apprehension.

“Oh, Mom, that’s… That’s nice -- But actually we promised Henry we’d talk to him tomorrow.” Emma looked across the booth at Regina, drew the dark eyes hidden in wary steel and smiled at her like it belonged to both of them, like it was shared. “It’s kinda time, and the kid has to know before anyone else finds out.”

Regina’s smile came slowly, a dawn that crept across the cold light of her gritted teeth and softened the hard edge of her clenched jaw; it chased away the shadows from eyes blackened to midnight, made them dusky again, warm. Regina bit her lower lip, dropped her gaze to the tabletop, afraid anyone might see an expression reserved only for Emma.

It was too late.

Mary Margaret’s strangled breath was loud enough to be heard only at their booth, over the din of a half-filled diner. She stared at Regina, green saucers in a pale face, suspicion that grew uncertain, moved into hope and then to something else. When Mary Margaret reached out and clasped Regina’s hand, they were all surprised.

“Then we’ll do it the next day,” Mary Margaret implored, and this time it was directed just at Regina. “Bring Henry. We’ll meet at our place and eat together. I mean, we are _family_.” And there was no inappropriate intimation, nothing in Mary Margaret’s voice that suggested an entanglement between them that was untoward, just a blanket acceptance that this was how it worked now; they were together - _all_ of them.

Emma slipped suddenly from the booth without thinking and hugged Mary Margaret like she never had before; arms wrapped around her as though desperation had a pressure and kids never really grew up and forgiveness was definitely a thing and mothers always,  _always_ mattered.

Regina raised a wry eyebrow, schooled her mouth against the broad smile that threatened again. “Apparently, we’d be delighted.”

David smirked, shrugged his broad shoulders at her and circled in on his wife and daughter, hand cradled to Emma’s head, Mary Margaret tucked beneath his chin. “You want in on this?” he threw back at Regina.

“Hardly,” Regina sneered. And she would never, _never_ admit otherwise.

Emma stepped away first because of course she did; squeezed her parents’ hands and slid back into the booth across from Regina. Emma refilled their glasses with an unsteady hand, offered the bottle to her parents because the liquid’s glint masked her damp eyes.

“No thank you, Emma,” Mary Margaret sniffed, cried openly because it went with her character. “We should go. Besides,” she grinned, “David and I have our own night to get to.”

Emma curved a pained eyebrow, muttered, “If you never tell me yours then I won’t tell you mine...”

“Deal,” David said hurriedly; coaxed away the woman who had shattered a little at Emma’s implication, every scarring visual that came with it. “We’ll see you Sunday. Have a great night.”

“You too,” Emma called brightly; and Regina smirked, waved her fingers roguishly at David.

“Good luck with Henry,” Mary Margaret added weakly as they left.

Emma chuckled, laced her hand with Regina’s again when they were alone. “Not the worst that could’ve gone.”

Regina nodded ruefully, squeezed Emma’s fingers. “I’ll admit I expected more fireballs.”

“You did well then,” Emma approved. “Nice restraint, Mills.”

Regina rolled her eyes. She dug her nails into Emma’s knuckles, drew away and lifted her shot glass. “To no one dying tonight.”

Emma raised her glass, smiled. “I’ll always drink to that.”

More tequila followed, flushed away the day’s heaviness and left Emma with only the good parts, warmth radiated in her chest, a darker heat smelted lower. The diner was almost full now, and familiar faces popped up in the crowd.

“Whatta ya say we get outta here?” Emma asked lowly, conspiratorial shoulders hunched over the table.

“What a good idea,” Regina silked back, her mouth a red promise against the flash of white teeth. Regina slipped her feet back into her boots, gathered up her coat and added, “I don’t think either of us should drive.”

Emma shook her head. “Your house isn’t far. I mean we could go to mine, but it’d be awkward.”

Regina scoffed, swayed a little on her feet and Emma slipped a hand into the small of her back to steady her. “I will never be _that_ close to Snow White. You need your own place.”

Emma shrugged a shoulder to her ear. “It’s not that easy. I’m not exactly flush with cash.”

“I’ll find you something.” Regina wrestled with her coat, managed to get her arms into it with Emma’s help. “Something nice. Homely.”

Emma bristled, pushed her hands into her jeans pockets. “I don’t need your charity Regina, I’m fine.”

Regina pressed a hand against Emma’s chest, leant into her, lips against her ear. “It’s not charity, dear - it’s a place I can fuck you where _you_ make the coffee afterwards.”

Emma’s eyes shut, mouth slipped open, a dangerous shiver along her spine because Regina played with fire, said those words in a diner full of people who knew nothing but would soon if Regina didn’t stop touching her like this, didn’t rein in her opulent tongue. “I’m not your whore, Regina,” she growled.

A delighted peal of laughter rang from Regina’s mouth, a sound so unexpected that heads turned, gawked openly at her but Regina never noticed. She patted Emma’s bellowed chest with her rested palm. “Of course not, dear.” She leant in again, whispered against Emma’s hair, “There is not enough money in the world for what you do to me. You, my darling Emma, are _priceless_.”

Regina turned on her heel and sashayed away, and Emma reeled, couldn’t convince her boots to move despite the overwhelming urge to be exactly wherever Regina was. She gritted her teeth, rumbled frustration and suddenly Leroy was in front of her, loomed in her vision even though he barely reached her shoulders.

“You alright, Emma?” he asked lowly. “Regina giving you trouble? Because me and the boys could fix that for you, get you a distraction…” The man nodded at a booth filled with dwarves who raised their hands in solidarity, and Emma bit her lip, wondered when her life had become _this_.

“Thanks Leroy,” she gritted, glanced over his head to Granny’s front door, to where Regina rested her hip against a wooden frame, her regal arms folded over a magnificent chest, a ruthless smirk on her plump red lips. “I don’t think anyone can help me now,” she said absently, molten malachite swirled through her hooded eyes.

Leroy stepped back, hand scratched roughly under his brown beanie. “Well, alright then,” he stuttered. “If you’re sure…”

Emma made no further comment - Regina’s hips swayed, eddied as she left the diner and Emma was wet with it, no moisture for her mouth. She pushed unapologetically past the dwarf, through people that crowded in to greet her, cared only about getting to the door, out onto the street and to home.

Home was Regina’s thighs and hips, her lavish tongue; it was the body of this woman where Emma resided for as long as Regina would have her, as long as she could be kept. Maybe even forever.

Emma skidded onto the pavement, swivelled her head and – _there_ – Regina’s majestic form silhouetted by the night. Emma ran to her, and when she caught up, Regina slipped a hand into hers, held it fiercely and Emma didn’t care who saw or how long it took to get back to Mifflin Street, it didn’t matter. This was enough, just her fingers and Regina’s woven together.

Emma leant against Regina’s woollen shoulder as they walked.

The cold night had never seemed so warm.

*****

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Emma had pulled in front of Regina, a brisk pace against the bitter cold and the nearly home of it all, her back hunched by crossed arms and it drew thin plaid tight across her shoulders. The occasional hint of skin showed between her untucked shirt and leather belt and Regina strode to it; caught up with the cotton edge and dragged Emma to her. The blonde needed little encouragement, easily pulled against her body when Regina’s spine touched the broad trunk of a sprawling elm."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is **explicit**. I mean, it's completely smut, it's _only_ smut, it's a goddamn smutfest. It's the smuttiest smut to ever smut, if ever a smut there was.
> 
> And then, a little fluff.
> 
> I do not recommend you read this in public. But please enjoy.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_33\. [ Because ]_ **

The streets were still too crowded for this, Emma knew, but she pushed Regina against the side of the building anyway.

Gasped breath; Regina’s mouth tasted of alcohol and need, the sensuous writhe of her tongue as Emma gripped her hair, pushed one hand into Regina’s red coat, into her gaped shirt, into the crimson lace on her breast. Regina whimpered at the cold bite of Emma’s fingers, at the thumb rubbed roughly over her nipple; she was _Wait_ and _Not here_ but Emma bit hard on her full lower lip and Regina moaned tattered fog into the hot space between them.

Possessed, Regina wrenched Emma’s plaid shirt from her belt, forced her hand into the skintight denim at Emma’s ass, clawed Emma’s hips against hers; hand slipped away and pushed instead into the front of Emma’s jeans, under panties and into a wetness that felt like Vesuvius in her palm.

Regina’s fingers slid through slickness and Emma whimpered in her mouth, strangled and desperate, shuddered and Regina smirked against the lips that faltered on hers. She heard voices a few blocks away, footsteps that approached and Regina moved her hand quickly, knew Emma was close but that they didn’t have time; touched her anyway, knowing strokes circled over the hardness of her clit.

Emma’s ragged moans, too loud for this place and Regina silenced her with a soundbooth mouth; whimpered onto Emma’s tongue when the blonde pinched her aching nipple between fingers and thumb. The voices drew closer, footsteps louder and Regina pushed two fingers roughly inside Emma, into the quake and keen of her body, thrust again and again and then pulled every part of herself away.

Emma crashed against the wall, arms outstretched, palms splayed, back bent and head hung low as if she’d run a hard twelve miles, lost the race anyway. Regina wiped her hand on Emma’s helpfully raised ass; smoothed back her dark hair and swiped at presumably smeared lipstick. By the time the small group of strangers passed their position of iniquity, Regina at least looked nonchalant.

Emma still struggled in the shadows.

“Come, dear,” Regina said lightly, betrayed by her dysphonic tone. Regina was not as calm as she seemed.

Emma pushed herself weakly from the building and followed Regina back down the street.

*

Between Emma’s end of town and Regina’s suburban existence lay a sprawled zone of low-use space, where the last dregs of the commercial district trickled into smaller converted cottages and towering old trees. There were few streetlights here.

Emma had pulled in front of Regina, a brisk pace against the bitter cold and the _nearly home_ of it all, her back hunched by crossed arms and it drew thin plaid tight across her shoulders. The occasional hint of skin showed between her untucked shirt and leather belt and Regina strode to it; caught up with the cotton edge and dragged Emma to her. The blonde needed little encouragement, easily pulled against her body when Regina’s spine touched the broad trunk of a sprawling elm.

Emma’s hands gripped the sides of Regina’s face, mouth conquered hers but Regina grabbed Emma’s wrist, pulled her hand down, down, into the already opened V of her charcoal pants, unbuttoned before Emma ever got there. She pushed Emma beneath fragile lace, past the bundled nerves that made her hips jolt, curled their fingers together and eased them inside herself with an open-mouthed, guttural moan.

Emma’s hissed _Fuck, fuck,_ over and over on Regina’s throat, teeth sharp against it; she sucked and bit at Regina’s delicate skin and Regina withdrew her own hand, left her to it, grabbed for Emma’s shoulders and ground furiously against her. Emma’s fingers curved, her arm moved in hard thrusts that lifted Regina onto her toes, Emma’s name an orison, approbation poured from Regina’s mouth. She rode Emma’s hand until a light came on behind them, stark over Emma’s vigorously oscillated shoulder and Regina’s teeth pinched to frustrated grunting, hissed through their rutted sound.

Regina shoved Emma away - the woman’s green eyes wide and pained, a desperate _No_ in her twisted lips and Regina lurched forward after her, clamped her hand over the blonde’s mouth, forehead shaken against her shoulder. Regina shivered, her lungs heaved and Emma’s arms fell around her, checked behind herself and realised the problem. A head bobbed in a window, couldn’t see them but had clearly heard.

Emma fumbled to re-button Regina’s pants, growled irritation against her dark hair; hissed, “Home, _now_.”

She grabbed Regina’s hand and drew her back to the sidewalk.

*

Two sets of footsteps echoed into the long quiet of a gentrified neighbourhood: one a heavy boot tread, the other a sharp rap from a smaller heel.

Emma moved impatiently. Her fingers were no longer damp, now sticky and cold in the night air and she ached to re-bury them in the heat only Regina could provide.

Not coming made Emma surly. Regina also not coming made her downright insane.

For several blocks, Regina had struggled to keep up; now Emma’s stride lengthened again and Regina found herself towed behind Emma like a wilful child, and her patience shattered. She snatched her hand from Emma’s grip; snarled at her, low and dangerous, “You will stop manhandling me, _Swan_.”

“It’s womanhandling,” Emma snapped back, slowed only slightly. “And quit fighting it, we’re almost there.”

Regina stopped entirely, ground to a halt on the diffused edge of a streetlight. Emma growled, swung around to face her, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

Regina crossed her arms, more shadow to her eyes than the night accounted for. One of her perfect eyebrows arched indignantly, a twisted sneer on her red-stained mouth. “We’ll do this on my time, Emma, or we won’t do it at all.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed, arms folded to match Regina’s and her mind screamed _Really?_ and _Is she fucking serious?_ \-- but Emma knew Regina was. She was nothing but serious. Emma raised her dimpled chin in a hard challenge.

Regina’s pupils dilated, trapped the low light like a collapsed star.

_Interesting…_

Emma smiled, careless and arrogant; shifted her weight back onto one booted heel, taunted, “Whatever, _Your Majesty_.”

Eyes blown to black, no visible hint of Regina’s irises and Emma’s mouth broadened. Cocky, she stepped into the brunette, leant against Regina’s crossed arms until their breasts touched, thin mouth skimmed over Regina’s parted lips. “My _Queen_.”

Regina’s panted breath assibilated and caught, her nostrils flared, pink tongue darted along her curled upper lip; she was a ravenous glare, the filigree thread of control.

Emma rasped, “You want me Regina. I had you coming against a tree back there. Don’t pretend I couldn’t fuck you right now and you wouldn’t beg for it.”

Regina’s hand shot out faster than Emma knew it could, fisted Emma’s shirt at the collar, knuckles pressed to the rapid pulse of her throat. “Do not pretend you’re in control here, _Emma_ ,” Regina snarled against her mouth. White teeth appeared, moved to Emma’s jawbone, scraped over the clenched muscle that danced there. Regina husked, “I could break you into pieces and never raise a _sweat_.”

Liquid fire roared through Emma’s veins; Regina’s hand slid down over her ass, fingers worked between denim thighs, stroked possessively the damp length of her. Emma’s sound was strangled, she slumped into Regina and the brunette trailed her tongue over the sensitive cartilage of Emma’s ear, mouthed it, breathed darkly in, “ _Mine_.”

Emma shook, quivered, couldn’t control her body, trapped in Regina’s hands at the exposed edge of streetlight. Pride knotted Emma’s stomach, tangled loosely over her vocal cords but there was no place for it here and Emma didn’t care. She murmured lowly, “ _Your Majesty…_ ”

Regina shuddered against her, an unbridled moan and her fingers rolled between Emma’s thighs, a rough friction. And then she pulled away, released her grip on Emma’s shirt, purred against her ragged mouth, “Better.”

Regina kissed Emma lightly, an air of indifference as she walked away.

Emma’s chest was a heaved constriction of muscles that didn’t work right, breaths that refused to fill her lungs even as she gulped them. She pressed her hands against her bent knees, crouched down on the shadowed pavement and the rigid seam of her jeans rubbed ruthlessly where Regina’s fingers had been. It nearly fucking killed her.

“Faster, Miss Swan,” Regina’s voice floated back, perfectly gentile against the backdrop of stately homes and McMansions.

“Fuck,” Emma whispered -- and then, in spite of everything that had just happened, despite the words and the taunts and the touches that left her fucking _wrecked_ , Emma’s mouth curved into the goofiest goddamn grin that had ever crossed her goddamn lips.

_Oh yeah, I fucking love this woman._

Emma pushed to her feet. It didn’t take her long to catch up.

*

By the time they reached 108 Mifflin Street, the alcohol had definitely worn off, but then it had never been necessary. Emma’s head swam anyway, a heady mix of _Regina_ and _this_ and _here_ and _now_ , and _why isn’t she fucking naked already?_

When the front door closed, all hell broke loose.

Emma was slammed against lead-lined windows and they rattled dangerously, metal imprinted on her spine and if Regina pushed any harder against her mouth they would crash right through, but Emma didn’t give a shit, met Regina’s demand eagerly, forcefully, all pulled hair and clacked teeth.

Regina’s red coat was thrown to the floor; she reached for Emma’s plaid shirt and tore it open with both hands, buttons pinged and bounced and Emma would miss that shirt tomorrow because she liked it, but not now, not when Regina’s hands cupped her spilled cleavage, tried to pool all of it at once, a barely contained hot mess because this black satin bra hadn’t fit Emma in years and she’d worn it on purpose.

Regina’s mouth crashed to heaved breasts, satin yanked down and she pulled Emma’s pink nipple into her wet mouth. Emma’s fingers twisted in Regina’s hair, gripped her neck, her spine, a guttural moan underscored Regina’s lathed tongue, her teeth scraped on puckered flesh and it _popped_ obscenely from her mouth. Regina dragged Emma from the window, whirled her around and pushed her towards the foyer stairs. Emma took them at a run.

“Boots, Emma!”

Emma rolled her eyes, hopped and flailed, all wrestled zippers and thudded leather and damned if she was going to go back down and put them where they belonged. Regina meanwhile placed her own boots neatly on the rack beside the door, because of course she did.

When Regina met Emma at the top of the stairs she kissed her feverishly, gone too long. Emma moved in her arms towards the second-floor staircase but Regina kissed her harder, Emma bent back and bowed beneath her determined mouth. Regina’s nails caught in Emma’s tattered shirt and pushed it from her body.

The sacrament of Emma’s skin; Regina worshipped cartilage and bone, breasts and arms, held Emma’s ribcage with gentle hands. Emma relaxed against her, into her; and then Regina shoved her back roughly. Emma stumbled, a confused irritation and Regina smirked like a dare, pushed Emma’s taut stomach, pushed until Emma hit the wall and Regina crowded over her, grasped her hips, rested Emma’s ass on a narrow ledge of wainscoting. Emma gripped to it white-knuckled, nails dug into painted wood as Regina tore at her belt, fought open her jeans, peeled the tight denim from her long thighs. Regina dropped to her knees and Emma’s head slammed back against the plaster.

Everything was too bright. Not a concussion, just… Something about Regina in this position did things to Emma. It did things she wasn’t proud of, made a beggar of her mouth and a car crash of her body. Regina on her knees jerked Emma’s hips uncontrollably, it dragged _fuck, fuck, fuck_ from her sacrilegious mouth, broke her tongue and made her lips dry, her pupils blown so wide that it hurt to look at anything but Regina’s inky hair and the lashes that wouldn’t quit, and her eyes like goddamn cinnamon rolled in hot chocolate -- Regina on her knees fucking _shattered_ Emma.

And Regina knew it.

At Emma’s feet, she’d balled the blue jeans. The thinnest ring of olivine stared down at her and Regina’s mouth curved into the ravenous mockery of a smile. She stroked Emma’s thighs, lazy patterns that grew sharp with her nails, red lines shaped to her name and Emma’s hand slipped into her dark hair, hand fisted roughly; Emma dragged Regina’s head back for the curved angle of her throat, her sharp-pulled jaw and Regina let her, a gravelled moan spilled from her bruised mouth: “ _Emma…_ ”

Regina slammed Emma’s thighs wide.

Emma slipped against the wainscoting, gripped now with both hands as Regina’s thumb ran along her panties. They were soaked, a sheen of moisture on Emma’s inner thighs; Regina could smell her, volatile and daring, almost taste her on the air. She slid her fingers under the black satin on Emma’s hips and dragged it away, slipped it into the pocket of her charcoal pants.

The air in the mansion was warm, Regina’s breath hotter yet Emma shivered when Regina exhaled against her, wet and wired. The dart of Regina’s tongue made Emma jerk, she cried out and when Regina buried her face between her legs Emma almost screamed, bucked helplessly against her.

Regina wanted a taste, just a taste, just the briefest evidence of what the walk home did to Emma, of how close Regina had gotten her behind that building because Regina had bigger plans tonight. But Emma was tart and salty and viscous on her tongue, a fathomless aroused pool and Regina almost drowned there, forgot to pull away, forgot to breathe as she tongued Emma’s clit, and the blonde juddered and quaked around her.

Emma’s thigh hooked over Regina’s shoulder, she rocked her hips against Regina’s face and Regina gripped her ass, helped Emma ride the flat of her tongue, rolled muscle flickered against nerves and Emma’s rampant swearing grew louder, hand twisted in Regina’s hair, held her perfectly in place. Emma was so close and Regina wanted to get her there but not like this, not yet; ducked against Emma’s hand and drove her tongue into the liquid heat of her. Emma fractured, mewled, hips a convoluted angle that encouraged Regina deeper, jaw stiff, Regina’s lips and nose and chin caught in a flood.

Regina pushed Emma’s body to a quaked precipice, tongue tight in the inexorable clench and _pull_ of her, but when Emma bowed away from the wall, toes curled against the wooden floor Regina withdrew, stood quickly and swallowed Emma’s keened desperation with her come-slicked mouth. She drove three fingers deep inside her.

Emma’s cry bellowed, stifled by Regina and it reverberated on tangled tongues. Regina thrust into Emma again, again, hard and rough despite the jagged tempo of Emma’s hips; she slammed Emma back against the wainscoting and Emma wrapped her calf around Regina’s legs for leverage, begged _more_ and Regina pushed into her, hissed when her forearm burnt, mouth on the distended tendon of Emma’s throat, shoulder pushed on Emma’s collarbone; Regina worked furiously between Emma’s spread thighs, fingers bunched, and her knuckles stretched Emma fully with each ragged thrust.

Unfiltered curses poured from Emma’s mouth, Regina’s name spilt endlessly into the air around them and Regina bit at the swell of Emma’s breast, watched a red flush flow over her chest, flooded friction in Regina’s hands and on her fingers the first fluttered signs that Emma was about to come...

Emma did.

Emma came roughly, fiercely, all screamed expletives and words that ended in the middle, hung on her unravelled breath as she jerked and bucked against Regina’s hand; clawed the threads from Regina’s white shirt, convulsed around her so tightly that Regina’s knuckles hurt.

Regina thrust still, dragged every shuddered noise and fractured epithet from Emma’s beautiful mouth. Regina rubbed against ridges that shivered the storm of Emma’s thighs, twisted her hand in the muscle that made Emma beg her to stop, kept going because when Emma came, Regina didn’t believe in villains anymore, or fate or even evil because her name was alive in Emma’s mouth, cradled by her tongue.

*

Emma sat at the kitchen counter and sipped a glass of water.

Regina was bent into the fridge, ass delectable in tight pants. She searched for who knew what - Emma hadn’t functioned enough to ask. That the brunette was still fully clothed irked Emma a little; Emma was naked but for sweat-dried salt, her ill-fitted bra the last piece of clothing discarded soon after Regina cradled her satiated body against the grey-and-white wall.  

Regina had offered Emma respite. Not that anything had happened between them that was particularly taxing, except for the hard-rubbed itch between Emma’s legs, and maybe arm muscles that ached from holding herself against thinned wood for too long. But it was nice to know this could be unhurried.

Emma hadn’t experienced that before.

Emma was used to a kind of drunk-punch lust, the kind of thing you ground yourself against until something burst; two strangers who raced for a common goal made even stranger if Emma knew a first name. It was a bitter thing, Emma knew; hollow inside, nothing left to cling to when it was gone but herself.

There was none of that with Regina.

Regina nudged the refrigerator door closed, triumphant, an armful of plastic containers with perfectly matched lids and Emma ducked a smile against her glass, hid anything that might spoil the brunette’s ebullience. Tupperware spilled onto the marble counter, neatly re-aligned as Regina opened boxes that revealed fruit and sliced vegetables, tiny empanadas, cheeses and green olives - an antipasto spread Regina clearly kept to hand. Emma wondered not for the first time how close Regina’s Enchanted Forest genes ran towards Mediterranean and Hispanic origins. It would certainly explain her perfect, caramelised-olive skin.

Regina ate fresh carrot sticks; held a teeny empanada -- _pastelillo_ , Regina later corrected her – between two fingers and bit it with relish, hand over her mouth as she chewed and Emma wished she wouldn’t do that, because she could watch Regina’s jaw move for hours. Emma went for the cheese mostly; ate the occasional grape or berry because she’d heard they staved off scurvy, and avoided the apple slices at all costs. Life-saving habits died hard.

But the best things were those bite-sized Spanish pastries. Filled with meat and cheese and potato and – cilantro, maybe? Emma wasn’t sure, didn’t deal much with spices except for cinnamon and chilli, didn’t really handle anything that wasn’t from a can or a food counter. But it totally mattered that she could fit two in her mouth at a time, and as long as she chewed for an ‘ _appropriate’_ length, Regina stopped frowning, never smacked her hand away from the rapidly diminished pile and only once grumbled that Emma was ‘ _uncivilised_ ’.

Emma was _proudly_ uncivilised, thank you very much. She’d definitely skip manners if they got in the way of a good thing, and good things were tiny deep-fried packages of meat and whatever the hell else was in there.

Life was great.

Really, life was too perfect, because Emma didn’t quite know what to do with herself when there was nothing to fight against, when it was all just fresh meat pastries and mind-blowing sex, easy conversation and ridiculous laughter with Regina Mills -- Regina Mills, who leant on the kitchen counter and made something of a sandwich in her hand - a _handwich_ , Emma insisted – from cheese and olives and some red thing that appeared to be a very sad tomato. Regina Mills, who later wiped her fingers primly on a dish-towel but was at least wild enough not walk it to the laundry straight away; Regina Mills, who… casually started to unbutton her shirt…

Regina still went on passionately about the delicate amount of _aji dulce_ she added to her homemade _sofrito_ – ‘ _Homemade is best,’_ she insisted, ‘ _because the store-bought kind can’t hold the right balance. It loses its zing’..._  And then she shrugged her magnificent shoulders out of white cotton and hung it casually over the stove handle like it belonged there. She moved on to her perfectly-tailored charcoal pants, her one-sided conversation now about _culantro_ , and Emma didn’t even know what meant. Apparently it was a green thing.

Emma quit eating because she couldn’t remember how to put the empan-pastel-whatever into her mouth, let alone chew and swallow it. She leant back in her chair and stared like the kitchen was on fire - but Emma at least would know how to deal with that situation, because it happened often enough, because stoves were apparently incendiary children, in that they were prone to burst into temper-tantrum flames if you ignored them for too long. So Mary Margaret had bought Emma an extinguisher early on in their roommate arrangement, and it worked like a charm but… _Why am I thinking about stoves? When did Regina get down to her underwear?_

Regina had unclasped her red lace bra, and now it slid down to her elbows. Emma erupted into a slack-jawed grunt of desperation, eyes whirled green molten glass.

“Now the key to a perfect _pastelillo_ pastry is…” Regina hooked her thumbs into her matched crimson-lace panties and wriggled them over her hips, let them fall to the floor -- dropped all pretence. “Are you just going to stand there and gawk, Emma?” Regina asked drily.

Emma was already on her feet, Regina in her arms. She kissed the olive oil from Regina’s lips, the spices from her mouth; kissed her until she found Regina there again, all the sweet darkness and rumbled moans that lived on her tongue.

The slide of skin on skin made one of them groan, or both Emma didn’t know, heard little over her pounded blood, the frantic beat of her heart and the pulse between her thighs and her mouth was on Regina’s breasts, not enough room for both though she tried, Regina’s fingers tight in her hair. Her nails caught on Regina’s jutted bone, her shoulder blades and spine, scraped harshly over the perfect curve of Regina’s ass because she knew now it made the woman shudder; Regina’s hips ground against hers and Emma held on with both hands, lifted her onto her toes, fingers at the edge of mind-numbing heat.

Regina’s nipple, hard and perfect in Emma’s mouth; Emma rolled it in her teeth, bit a little too hard and Regina hissed, whimpered over her head. And then Emma picked her up, and despite Regina’s earlier complaint at the vault, her long legs wrapped around Emma’s bare waist, and the press of wetness against Emma’s abdomen pulled a low moan from Emma’s mouth, open and hard on the thrown curve of Regina’s throat.

Emma walked with Regina in her arms, placed her down on the kitchen counter and Regina stiffened - partly from the cold marble, partly in disapproval.

“ _Emma—_ ”

“You started this, Regina.” Emma kissed her pink-flushed chest, tongue trailed into cleavage. “You knew this was my next move, you’ve met me.”

Regina’s ankles squeezed on Emma’s hips, dark head fell back as Emma’s impertinent mouth tasted her ribcage, her taut stomach muscle. “It’s unhygienic. I prepare food here.”

Emma snorted against Regina’s skin. “Me too.”

And if Regina didn’t want her to keep making bad sex puns, why did she keep setting them up like that?

Emma nipped at the skin on Regina’s diaphragm as the brunette breathed in irritation - ready to argue or complain or whatever it was she planned – and Emma brushed her knuckles against the wet burn between Regina’s open thighs. Regina’s ire turned to a breathy moan, and when Emma’s tongue traced over her navel, lower, made slick patterns against her hipbones Regina didn’t seem to care about impropriety anymore.

Emma sat her ass down on a stool and pulled Regina’s hips to the edge of the counter; hooked Regina’s legs over her shoulders and everything reeled for a moment, Emma’s head wildly spun because this was a thing she had imagined doing only in her quietest moments, in her dark bedroom with a pillow clenched between her teeth for silence as she fucked herself into oblivion, frantic and alone.

And now, here she was.

Emma breathed in the rich spice of Regina, admired the glint of wetness and how fucking beautiful this woman was _everywhere_ ; trailed the tip of her tongue over the sensitive skin on Regina’s inner thigh. Regina jolted, a rasped moan somewhere between pleasure and desperation, and she dug her heel into Emma’s back, commanded her closer. Emma smirked but lacked the patience to tease. Her tongue broke like a wave along the length of Regina, slid and stroked, and Regina collapsed back onto the countertop with a drawn-out moan.

Emma tasted every part of Regina, lips and tongue tested every dip and crevice, every texture and hardness as Emma searched for what drew the loudest sounds from Regina’s woodwind throat. She circled tight muscle, pushed inside with her tongue to find the source of Regina’s wetness, the fresh-fruit tang of her and Regina’s thighs gripped against her ears, hand fluttered into her hair and held her there, and Emma hadn’t wanted to move anyway, thrust against ridges and the smooth place that made Regina crumple upright in desperation, blonde hair wrapped in her fist.

Emma used her thumbs to spread Regina wider, lathed her way to Regina’s clit and when the flat of her tongue dragged against it, Regina’s strangled cry rang in her ears. Emma did it again, and again, over and over, reverent like a prayer, rougher like victory. The tip of her tongue flickered on the hard bundle of nerves and Regina keened and quivered, pulled her closer and Emma sucked and mouthed, hummed and rumbled her moans for the vibration, tongued harder and faster, face and chin wet with Regina and hungry, always hungry for more.

Emma slipped her hand down beneath her chin, pressed two fingers against molten heat but she heard _No_ and Regina’s body flew up, hand tight on her wrist and Emma frowned, murmured frustration, a question mark in the curve of her tongue. Regina relaxed her grip and Emma tried again, but Regina’s nails bit at her tendons.

Emma lifted her head to check in. Regina sobbed frustration, growled her ire, pushed up onto her elbows.

“Why—”

“Shhhhhhh…” Regina knotted Emma’s curls in her fingers, pushed her head down to where she needed her and Emma resisted only as long as it took her to sink back to her chair, and then Regina’s splayed thighs, the wanton beg and thrust of her hips made Emma forget there was ever a problem.

Emma’s hands slid up the smooth skin of Regina’s stomach, over ribs and onto soft breasts and Emma rubbed her thumbs against puckered nipples as her tongue returned home, Regina’s gasped approval and shuddered thighs all the reminder Emma needed that she lived here now, against the slick tide of Regina’s body, the ripple and flow of her, the clit her tongue was made for.

Emma licked and stroked, ate louder against Regina’s ragged cries, harder and faster in tighter turns, jaw ached and fatigued and she relied on her neck; if that gave way Emma would use her entire goddamn body, knees wedged now against the counter, shoulders pressed in Regina’s crooked thighs, her undulated hips, into the bent curve of her as Regina’s body rose and her breasts pressed into Emma’s squeezed palms and from Regina’s lips, _Emma_ and _Please_ and _Don’t stop_ spilled into the kitchen air.

Emma’s tongue rough and hard, she found the place where sound stopped, where a drawn-out silence filled Regina’s opened mouth and distended throat; Regina’s body preternaturally stilled, stiffened as Emma worked that smallest section of nerves with everything she had. And then it all became deafening again.

Regina a keened cry, shrieked pleasure as she shattered on Emma’s tongue. Bowed back and arched hips, jolted pleasure that clawed Emma’s arms and flooded her chin, begged her to stop and to never stop all in the same haggard breath. Emma didn’t stop, circled and twisted her tongue, kept Regina at that place where aftershocks grew and quaked into secondary devastation, into clenched muscles that fluttered and grew limp, body heavy against the marble beneath her.

“ _Emma_ …”

An exhausted, throaty exhalation and Emma grinned because that was how her name should sound, with Regina’s voice raw, her body wrecked. She kissed Regina’s thigh, let the brunette’s legs down gently from her shoulders. “Yes, your _majesty_?”

A shivered breath; Regina’s toes twitched and Emma’s grin curved wider, cocky and self-satisfied.

“Come here,” Regina rasped, any dangerous edge to her tone muted by lethargy.

“On the counter? Seems unhygienic…”

Regina muttered darkly, and Emma didn’t have to hear the words to know she was being cursed. She smirked and leant her back against the countertop, hoisted herself up. Emma stretched out on the marble and it wasn’t particularly comfortable but that didn’t matter, because Regina slid against her and lazily kissed her breast, threw an arm over her tilted stomach.

Emma kissed the dark hair at Regina’s temple, kissed the faintest hint of lines beside her closed eyes. Head propped on her elbow, a stupid smile crawled across Emma’s face.

She watched Regina like that for a long time.

*

Dessert was a repeat of appetisers, because Emma scoffed the last of the _pastelillos_ and fruit while Regina vaguely dozed, until eventually Regina came around again and rolled her dark-coffee eyes at Emma, dragged her away from the kitchen counter. Emma sulked until she realised she was being led upstairs.

“Bed time?”

“Not quite,” Regina demurred, promisingly.

Emma’s skin puckered, hair prickled at the back of her neck and she didn’t know why.

In Regina’s bedroom, Emma stared longingly at the sumptuous, perfectly-smoothed comforter and knew hospital corners lurked at the edges of expensive sheets below. She dragged her feet as Regina pulled her past the inviting set-up, but suddenly realised she wasn’t tired at all when Regina swung her around in the adjoined sitting-room doorframe and kissed her brutally.

Regina clutched Emma’s hair, her cheeks, her jawbone -- everything Emma a life raft in a choppy sea of indecision. Regina took this moment to reacquaint herself with the softness of Emma’s body, with her breasts and eyelashes and her neck just below the ear, the almost imperceptible curve of her stomach. Regina smiled at Emma, lips brushed to hers and one side of Emma’s mouth rose in response, confusion and sweetness, and a gentle question that crinkled her spruce-green eyes.

Regina kissed Emma surely, deeply, all full lips and slow-danced tongue, and her hands slid over Emma’s shoulders, fingertips traced her muscled back. She grasped Emma’s face again. “I want you to do something for me.”

Emma quirked an eyebrow, a jibe on her lips but she licked it away with the tip of her tongue. “Anything.”

Regina’s smile was worth it. Slow, it crested like sunrise; a dangerous, dark red morning. “Go and sit on the couch.”

Emma eyed the oversized furniture warily for a second. But she had been there before, it was the place where this all began, the place she first took Regina at a rush, as if her actions would change nothing, the short-sighted carelessness of someone who knew no better. Emma knew better now.  Emma knew Regina better, knew herself better; had no illusions anymore about this being a one-fumble thing. Emma had a Storybook page that suggested it wasn’t even a one-lifetime thing. Henry was right - that was a good page. It was a page someone could almost hang a future on.

Emma crossed to the couch slowly, side-skipped and then walked backwards with her eyes on Regina, smile crooked until her knees hit the leather edge and she sank down, smirk daring. Regina rested loosely against the doorframe, arms and ankles crossed, head at an angle, her midnight hair spilled thickly on her shoulders. Emma flexed lazily and the couch creaked, her bare breasts purposefully raised, arms outstretched along its high, curved back.

Regina purred, “Tell me you want me.” But it was a command, hard-edged and dangerous.

Emma’s scalp tingled, the tangled line between _turned-on_ and _Maybe I’ll die_. “I always want you,” she shrugged, dimpled chin raised. But then Emma faltered, added quietly through dried lips, “Probably always have.”

“Probably?” Regina’s royal hips rolled off the doorframe; a panther, all sleek thighs and predatorily padded feet. “For how long, Emma?”

Emma swallowed as Regina stalked her, fidgeted uncertainly against the couch. “I dunno – cider?”

“Are you offering me a drink?” Regina slowed her approach; arms folded again, chest pushed arrogantly against them. And she knew Emma meant that first day -- it had been undeniable, a sharp shock that thrummed between them and Regina had spent long nights, weeks, months fighting its existence until she was livid with it. But Emma’s tentative mouth made it seem more real somehow. “Would you like this to stop, Emma?”

Emma knew the question was much bigger than it sounded. It bled at the edges, seeped into something outside this moment. She shrugged dismissively, shook her head, a purposefully conceited air. “I’m not going anywhere…”

“ _Good_.” It drawled from Regina, yet she released a breath that she refused to acknowledge she had held. Regina reached the couch. She pressed herself against Emma’s sprawled legs, leant above her, palms splayed on either side of Emma’s head. “Sit back and relax, Miss Swan.” It was deceptively light. “But don’t take your eyes off me.”

Emma couldn’t even if she tried, and why would she -- Regina sank down over her, straddled Emma’s lap. Emma’s blackened pupils blew malachite-green bands into slivered threads, Regina’s breasts so close to Emma’s mouth that her lips quivered with them. Regina pulled Emma roughly to her aching nipple and Emma moaned without restraint; tongued it wetly, drew it between her teeth and Regina arched into her, held Emma’s blonde head, rocked her hips lazily against her.

_Fuck._

_“Emma…”_ Regina breathed against her ear; dropped her mouth to Emma’s shoulder and whispered again there, quietly.

Emma didn’t know what had happened then. She knew something was fucking different -- she shuddered without warning, clit throbbed painfully between her thighs, oversensitive and suddenly conscious of a very scant distance between them; of cool air and damp fire and Regina’s fucking _slickness_. They were frozen in a strange embrace, the held breath before you discovered how awkward a thing would be, or the kind of moment Emma usually woke to and realised she hadn’t meant to sleep her way into it.

Emma tilted her head down but Regina caught it, held her cheeks and trapped wide eyes with her own. “Keep them on _me_ ,” Regina commanded, and when Emma seemed like she hadn’t heard, Regina rolled her hips deliberately, against _whatever it was_ that shocked Emma back against the couch.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Emma breathed, impossible for her to form other words, didn’t even know where she’d gotten those.

Regina chuckled, dark silk drawn over Emma’s fireball skin. The brunette rolled her hips again, a long undulated movement that ripped a squeak from Emma’s throat.

“Holy shit, is that-- did you give me a _cock?_ ”

Regina arched an eyebrow, arms folded loosely over her chest. “Of sorts.”

“You gave me-- Regina—”

Regina drew back, defensive, the smallest hint of apprehension on her stern mouth. “You asked for one. I simply…” Regina flourished a hand wordlessly between them.

Emma had no comeback because it was true; she had asked, she’d fucking _begged_ and now… Emma grinned, a neck-swallowing shrug, and dropped her hands to Regina’s hips. “Take it for a spin?”

Regina rolled her eyes, slid back against Emma’s knees and held her legs. “Not so fast,” Regina warned drily. “It takes more practice than you would think.”

Emma snorted, ran a hand through her blonde hair. “I don’t practice Regina, I _do_ \- doing’s how you learn.”

Regina’s mouth curved dangerously, narrowed eyes glinted. “Is that right?”

The blonde nodded easily, was about to add something equally as clever when Regina slid forward. Her hand gripped the back of Emma’s neck and she dragged herself hotly, liquidly against Emma’s length. Emma yelped, shot up on the couch and would have thrown Regina off entirely if the brunette hadn’t been ready. “Holy FUCKBALLS.”

Regina snorted, unimpressed. She pulled Emma down again, re-seated herself carefully on Emma’s knees. “You have to think of something else,” Regina insisted, and her nails pinched the skin of Emma’s hand as it slid to her ass. “Football perhaps,” Regina suggested drily. “That works in the movies. Or you could try your sadly tragic childhood.”

Emma glared darkly at her - but none of that would help anyway, because Emma found nothing repulsive about a good Tight End – _haha_ – and even _her_ past was not sad enough to overshadow _this_ , this livewire pulse of Regina’s body, applied directly to her clit – _Cock? How does this even work?_ \- with no secondary interference, and Regina’s hands and mouth could already break Emma into atoms so what would this even do to her? How would she survive that?

“ _EMMA_.”

Emma’s eyes snapped up, attention yanked from the frantic whirlpool she’d fallen into and she stared at Regina’s impatient jaw, her fiercely narrowed gaze.

“You will listen to me, _Swan_ , and you will hold off on any _childish_ urges you might have, because this is not about you. Do you understand me?”

Emma nodded dumbly, nothing but widened eyes when Regina raised herself slowly, pushed herself wetly over Emma and Emma couldn’t breathe, all fire to the ice on Regina’s tongue. “Use your words now, Emma, or you can leave. I can just as easily do this on my own.”

Emma’s moan was guttural. She bit her lip and tasted iron. The thought of Regina doing this, doing _anything_ ‘alone’—It did everything to her. It wrecked Emma to dust. But it also woke the mule-headed stubborn streak in her, bigger than Alaska; the competitiveness that had started with food and acceptance and now extended to everything; the arrogant determination that got her in trouble but at least kept her alive. Emma sneered; gripped Regina’s hips and dragged Regina’s wet cunt along the full length of her shiny new cock.

Regina fell forward with a tattered moan, hand clutched tightly to Emma’s shoulder, body shaken in an uncontrollable storm. She husked, stuttered brokenly, “Very good, Miss Swan…”

Emma smirked, tried to pull Regina over again but Regina’s hand slipped firmly to her throat, thumb pressed in the notched hollow. “It’s my turn, Emma.”

Emma swallowed heavily; confusion, desperation marred her features. “I wanna fuck you Regina, I just-- _Please_.”

A hint of warmth to Regina’s eyes that wasn’t there a second ago, a gentle humour to her curved mouth. “That’s exactly what you’ll be doing, Emma.”

Regina stroked the hair from Emma’s face, kissed her possessively and Emma whimpered into her red mouth, fingers loose on Regina’s knees and Emma’s hips rose impotently because Regina was too far away. Regina pushed her back on the couch, rose over Emma like a cloud, all inky hair and storm-front eyes; cupped Emma’s breasts, nipples pinched between her fingers and thumbs. Regina’s tongue trailed the line of Emma’s jaw, teeth bitten to her earlobe and she growled, “ _Mine_.”

Emma lost cohesion, came apart in Regina’s hands and Regina kissed the corner of her mouth, her chin, down her long curved throat, blonde head thrown back against the leather and Regina’s nails were stiff feathers on Emma’s arms, traced delicately over her triceps and Emma didn’t know what to do with the information her body gathered, all the sharp and soft of it, the gentle, brutal perfection. Regina controlled her like perpetual motion, like a cat and mouse, like a silent _please_ that would never, ever be said.

Regina reached between Emma thighs and Emma bit her lip, had no fucking idea what to expect and when Regina gripped her, Emma swore in ragged cursive. Emma couldn’t take more than this, but Regina lifted her hips, her hand firm on Emma’s shoulder and Emma clawed desperately at her wristbones, at Regina’s taut thigh and Regina eased herself down, down, onto and around Emma, slid slowly; a long, ragged sigh, until Emma was sheathed in her, tight to the hilt.

“ _Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck..._ ”

Regina agreed; couldn’t move at all, barely breathed as she adjusted to this, this feeling of Emma tight inside her while Emma’s fingers still skimmed along her skin, still stroked against the dips and ridges of her curved spine but also she was here, hot between her thighs, and Emma’s mouth brushed against Regina’s slack lips and Regina kissed her loosely, and then Emma’s hands were gripped tightly to her ass and Regina laughed, head thrown back. And she thrust her hips hard against Emma’s.

Emma a hissed string of curses; Regina gripped Emma’s shoulder and waist, raised herself carefully, lowered herself with shuddered breaths, again, again stiltedly, white teeth caught on her lip and then Regina rolled her hips and Emma juddered beneath her, and Regina found a rhythm that pulled Emma’s name from her mouth.

Regina gripped Emma tighter, held the taut muscle on Emma’s hip and pulled the cock deeper, deeper inside of her, full and aching and she rode Emma like an inexorable tide. Regina leant back, put her hand on Emma’s knee and rode Emma obtusely, and Emma watched where their bodies met, the flooded slide and release and Emma kept swearing, telling Regina how _fucking beautiful_ she was, whispered as though they were in church while the organ of Regina’s mouth grew louder.

Emma’s hand on Regina’s breast, the bounce and fall; her other on Regina’s ass urged the roiled quaking of Regina’s hips, faster, rougher, the frantic mindless push together of their bodies and it was all pounded heat and slick-thigh wetness and sweat dripped between them; and Regina rode Emma now at a gallop, at a canter, like a fucking carnival and Emma barely hung on, Regina clenched and volatile around her cock and Emma felt everything, every twinge and pull inside of Regina and it fucking _flayed_ her, pleading sounds from Emma’s mouth and she bit her tongue to hold herself together.

Regina fell forward, needed to be closer to her, to this, arms over Emma’s neck, her head hung low and Regina rolled and pushed into her, her breasts against Emma’s breasts, stomach and thighs and skin together, and Regina fisted Emma’s hair, pulled her head back for her keened throat, bit sharply; thrust and ground herself to the very haggard edge and Emma pushed against Regina, into her, her cock pounded roughly in Regina’s body and when Regina finally came, it was apart.

Regina was a bellowed cry on Emma’s jaw, a panted, pitched scream and Emma tumbled after her, fell into the sky. Then Emma was a plane crash, a collapsed building, utterly obliterated and the only safe place, the only safe person, the only person who could rescue her and maybe find all of her pieces and maybe even glue them back together again was Regina. Regina Mills, who fell back onto the leather couch and sobbed; rolled over on her side a shuddered mess and Emma slipped down behind her, wrapped an arm around her that Emma didn’t know she still had, and just held her, quietly.

Emma kissed Regina’s hair, her bare shivered shoulder and murmured everything and nothing at her, wasn’t meant to make sense just soothe and distract. And it did.

Regina’s fingers slid into Emma’s, tightly entwined and she pulled their hands to her mouth and kissed Emma’s knuckles.

“You ok?” Emma asked, kissed her shoulder again.

Regina nodded beneath her chin. Emma curled closer, closed her eyes.

“Emma…”

“Mmm?” Emma murmured, a breath from sleep because the leather was soft and Regina’s body fit into hers perfectly.

“… I love you.”

*****

**Still possess words? Please, throw them at me.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"“I will not be bound to your timeline,” Regina cuffed archly; swung herself seated on the edge of the couch, arms folded on her bare chest. “I love you, Emma Swan. If you have a problem with that—”"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be angst. There will be fluff. I am Swan-Mills Family Trash. This is my trashbag. 
> 
> **Housekeeping note:** I went back and changed a thing. Henry stayed with the Tillmans on a _Friday_ night now (not a school night). I guess I control time? I am drunk with power. Muahaha.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_34\. [ I know ]_ **

It wasn’t that Emma hadn’t heard Regina, it’s just that she wasn’t ready.

Which was crazy, because Emma thought she _was_ ready, was pretty sure she’d been ready to say _I love you_ to Regina the minute she left Mary Margaret’s office, which was even crazier because it’d only been a week and Emma was not good at fast. Sure, this thing between them had actually been going on a lot longer, she’d just-- She was just _surprised_. Emma was surprised Regina had said it first, surprised she’d said it at all because this was _Regina freakin’ Mills_ and Emma didn’t think-- She just didn’t think.

Emma didn’t think this would happen now, thought maybe they’d dance around it a little longer, pretend it wasn’t that, edge toward it slowly like the thing they’d fallen into and now, Emma couldn’t think at all, or talk or move or really breathe, she was just… Regina’s words hung there, and somehow they got bigger.

_Goddammit Emma – say something, you piece of shit._

And maybe – and here was the kicker – maybe the reason Emma Swan hadn’t already done something about saying _I love you_ , was because actually, she was a goddamn coward. She’d proven it at Granny’s. She proved it again now.

Emma stretched stiff and silent behind Regina like she could pretend nothing had happened, like maybe if she pretended she was asleep – and it was perfectly natural for someone to sleep like a stiffened board of cowardly shit – then everything would go back to exactly the way it was two minutes ago, when all she had to worry about was holding Regina closer and not sleeping directly in the wet spot.

And it made no sense because Emma was ballsy; she’d worn _combative_ and _confrontational_ with pride as a foster kid and then into adult life -- Emma Swan was a straight-up, tits-out, firecracker of getting shit done. She was Storybrooke’s Savior, a goddamn hero of literally epic proportions because there were actual books on it; it was scrawled across her life like magic but right now…

_The fuck, Emma? Jesus - just open your goddamn mouth._

It wasn’t even that Emma was running, she didn’t want to. She was in this for good, she wanted this _disgustingly_ happy future with Regina, all mind-blowing sex and family-snap moments and the _aw shucks_ crap she’d yearned for as a kid. Emma Swan was in love with Regina Mills.

Why couldn’t she just say it?

“Regina…”

A swallowed silence. Regina shifted tighter against her, tucked into Emma’s hips and pulled Emma’s hand to her breast, settled into her palm. Emma said nothing because the words all backed up in her mouth.

“It wasn’t about you,” Regina breathed quietly.

“…What?” Emma couldn’t tell if she was being granted a reprieve or being dismissed out of hand, but either way she didn’t think she liked it. She pushed up on her elbow, couldn’t see Regina’s face; Regina was all dark chestnut hair curtained on black leather and this wasn’t a conversation you had with someone’s back, Emma couldn’t just lie here. She clambered over Regina, got to her feet. “There’s no one else here Regina.” Emma tried for rough humour, her mouth stiff. “Was it the couch? Are you just really into fine leather?”

Rich-coffee eyes darkened to black, Regina’s jaw tight. “Of course it’s _about_ you, Emma - _you_ are the person I’m in love with.” Regina rolled into the place Emma had been, arm draped over her stomach. “I mean I didn’t say it so that I could push you into saying it back. You will say it when you’re ready – or you won’t. I simply couldn’t wait any longer.”

Emma dragged fingers through her blonde hair, her feet fidgeted nervous energy into the rug. “I don’t—”

“I will not be bound to your timeline,” Regina cuffed archly; swung herself seated on the edge of the couch, arms folded on her bare chest. “I love you, Emma Swan. If you have a problem with that—”

Emma dropped immediately to her knees, hands on Regina’s stiff thighs and Emma smiled, tried to make it bright and broad but knew it came out goofy, ridiculous - it was how her face worked around Regina. “I don’t have any problem with that.”

“Fine.”

“And I’m gonna say it Regina, it’s just—”

“You’re an idiot,” Regina snapped. “I am very well aware of that, Emma. You only ever react to things - frankly I’m surprised we’re here at all. If I hadn’t kissed you in that mansion, you’d still be twaddling around with Captain Guyliner, pretending he was the most distracting plaything your parents ever gave you.”

“Hey!” Emma tipped back on the rug, arms caught on protectively hunched knees. “That’s not fair Regina – I kissed you first.”

“You _mouthed_ me. I’d hardly call what you did in that forest a kiss.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed, pride rose in her throat; she launched herself at Regina, knees on her hips, breasts against breasts, fingers pulled into her thick, dark hair. Emma kissed Regina deeply, like she could pour all her _I love you_ s onto Regina’s tongue and leave them there where it was safer - they would only break in Emma’s mouth. Emma kissed Regina like fire and Regina let her, kissed her carelessly back.

It ended with Emma’s forehead pressed against Regina’s; Emma caught her breath from Regina’s lungs, gravelled, “I’m gonna say it, Regina; don’t want you to think I just love fucking you—”

“Oh how romantic,” Regina cut her off, a ragged notch in her stone-cut voice. She pushed Emma away, back onto her feet.

Regina yawned then, stretched languidly, a long curve to her body, her breasts arched and Emma’s tongue darted across her lips. It hadn’t been planned, but Regina saw an out from this conversation, and she smirked darkly. “Why don’t you put those _Charming_ genes to an actual use and carry me to bed?”

A high-shot eyebrow; Emma’s mouth twisted, faintly suspicious. Something had happened here, changed, and Emma hadn’t kept up. “I thought you hated it when I did that?”

“I won’t be treated like a distressed damsel, Emma,” Regina said curtly. “I am a _Queen_. Queens are not required to walk themselves to bed. That’s what servants are for.”

“I’m your servant now?”

Regina waved a dismissive hand. “You are whatever I have to call you to get me off this couch.”

Emma’s head tilted; and as she considered it, a rakish grin slid across her lips. “Sex Savior? Champion of Fucking? Hero of your Vagina? Woman who knows—”

“That’s quite enough, _Hero_ ,” Regina drawled, an unimpressed eyebrow.

Emma grinned foolishly. “Yes, _your Majesty._ ” She picked Regina up in one smooth movement and Regina’s arm wrapped around her neck. With her free hand, Regina traced Emma’s nipple, drew it rigidly taut and Emma’s step faltered. “Keep doing that and I’ll drop you.”

“Drop me and I’ll _kill_ you,” Regina husked, voice sweet acid. She pinched the puckered nub until Emma hissed, nipped at Emma’s jaw and Emma dropped her onto the bed, heavier than she’d intended. The blonde crawled over her, rolled lazily against Regina’s skin.

“Sleep time, Emma,” Regina insisted, as Emma’s tongue slid distractingly on her ear.

“Dun wanna.” Emma lathed Regina’s throat, tasted the hollow between her collarbones, thrust damply against Regina’s hips.

“I’m afraid that’s not a choice.” Regina held her off loosely. “Henry will be here tomorrow, and it’s an important day.”

Emma hung her head, growled irritation, blonde strands like silk on Regina’s breasts and Regina shivered despite herself. “Can’t we just send the kid an email?”

Regina ignored that; pushed Emma easily down onto the comforter, slid herself lightly between the sheets. Emma lay on her back, arm tucked behind her head and Regina waved out the lights, curled onto her side.

As the darkness settled in, Regina bit her cheek. She whispered, “Hold me...”

Emma rolled in sleepily behind her, bowed to Regina’s curve, arm over Regina’s waist, feet tangled loosely with her legs. Emma breathed deeply, slowly, a gradual descent into unconsciousness.

Regina remained painfully awake.

 _I told her I love her_.

_She didn’t say it back._

It mattered.

*

Saturday mornings were usually Regina tucked up in bed against pillows with a book of any description, while Henry slept on. They were lavishly cooked breakfasts and a week’s worth of laundry washed and folded. They were hurried paperwork, followed by walks with her son along the pier or into town for comic books. Occasionally, they were cartoons and movies if the weather was poor.

Not today.

Saturday morning was Emma's fingers, pressed in a tentatively begged question.

Regina gasped at Emma’s mouth, the teeth drawn along her shoulder, a disjointed longing with Emma’s low-rumbled _Good morning_ ; with Emma’s breathless _Please_ and _God you're so wet.._.

Regina was, didn't know how she'd woken like this, so liquidly from the depths of sleep. She pushed into Emma’s hand, invited her fingers to slide deep, deeply inside of her and Regina moaned languidly into Emma’s hair -- it fell like sunlight, like gold-spun Saturday mornings, Emma’s mouth on her breasts.

Regina thought she might shatter with the weight of it all, come apart with the lightness - Emma here in her bed and in her mornings, here in her body, like a thing that was never supposed to happen until it did and now it could never be any other way. Emma loved Regina lazily, fucked her frantically, pulled every part of her tattered and undone.

If someone would just bring Regina coffee, it would be perfect.

Later, Emma did. It was terrible – bitter and burnt and it gritted on Regina’s tongue. And Regina laughed because there were things Emma Swan was very good at - like making her scream before 10am, or touching herself while Regina watched, pink-cheeked and lip-bitten, unable to move as Emma shuddered over her – but coffee was definitely not one.

And Regina had not forgotten the night before.

From the over-eager way Emma followed her through her chores, the way she offered Regina anything and everything except the one thing she hadn’t said, the blonde had not forgotten either.

Regina did her best to hold her brittle tongue as Emma folded laundry the wrong way, sprayed them both with leather polish while Regina restored the couch, knocked over a jar of homemade salsa as Regina cleared their breakfast plates from the bleached counter - until finally she tasted blood from all the bitten and Regina snapped.

“Shower, right now!” Regina’s arm was a rigid extension of wrought-iron shoulders, aimed at the staircase. “There are towels in my bathrooms, everything you might need – wear my clothes, wear anything you like _within reason_ \-- Just _go_.”

Emma froze over the sink, a cloth in her hands. “Regina…”

“ _Emma…_ ” Regina’s hands shook on the apron tied loosely over her satin robe, a strained mix of irritation and the deep-muscle tear that had settled beneath her ribs last night. “ _Please_. Henry will be here soon. I need time to get myself in order as much as my home.”

Emma’s lip pulled between her teeth. She offered Regina the cloth. “Ok, do you need—” she stopped herself. Emma caught Regina’s hand and rubbed her thumb across her knuckles in something of an apology, then all but bolted from the kitchen.

Regina sank to the floor. She worked out her frustrations on shattered glass and pooled salsa, on polished hardwood until it reflected her pinched expression; it stilled her, and she breathed quietly.

_I can’t be like this when Henry arrives._

_I should not be like this now._

Regina’s hung head drew a dark curtain of hair around a moment of silence.

Regina knew Emma loved her. She knew because Emma stared at her as though Regina kept the sun alive in her hands. She knew because dark secrets slipped from Emma’s mouth that were never meant to be there; she knew because Emma said she wouldn’t run and hadn’t, was still here trying to pretend that she understood what it was like to have a family, to be a part of something she had only recently acquired under the oddest of circumstances – Regina knew all of that.

She knew Emma Swan tried. Emma tried too hard at most things, regularly failed and yet pigheadedly kept going and Regina had always admired that about her, even when it had worked against her plans. Now she had no choice but to accept it, because she loved Emma Swan and this was as much part of her as her stubborn jaw, or her infuriating tendency to be perfectly right and dreadfully wrong at the exact same time.

Yes, Regina wanted to strangle Emma; wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until three little words fell out… but she had never needed to hear those words before. That her son and Emma Swan were here, thick in her life and her heart was more than she had ever expected, or frankly deserved.

Regina didn’t need Emma to say it. She already knew.

Regina breathed deliberately and got to her feet. She rinsed out her cloth one last time and took it to the laundry, disposed of broken shards and ruined salsa, removed her apron and folded it neatly over the rack inside a cupboard door. She smoothed her satin robe and her tousled hair, and made her way from the kitchen towards the staircase.

Henry would be here soon.

Regina needed to get dressed.

*****

 

**_35\. [ You know ]_ **

Regina realised, as she surveyed the kitchen counter, that she had prepared far too much food. It was less marble than ceramic, plates and plates of pastelillos and mallorca, of salads and antipasto, of fruits and the clearly nervous overcompensation of a mother about to tell her son she was dating her former arch-enemy, his birth mother, and _would maybe he like some homemade mustard with that?_

Regina wiped her sweated palms on her balled apron; smoothed her dark hair from her face and nervously re-adjusted the thin black belt on her bright blue dress. It was slightly too formal, hemmed just below her knees and looked strange without stockings and heels, but Henry had always complimented the colour so that was what she had chosen.

Emma had been banished upstairs, after she’d slunk into Regina’s kitchen wearing only a mischievous smile and the shortest, tightest leather skirt Regina owned; a flippant, “Hey, at least Henry’ll be distracted. And this’ll scar him more than anything we’re gonna say.”

Admittedly, the fireball Regina summoned was a minor overreaction - but she’d never thrown it, and that deserved thunderous applause.

Now, Regina waited. She waited on nails, on glass, on the thinnest blade of an unknown future, on the sharpest bite of a high-tension wire. She had no plan, and usually Regina refused to work without one, but there was no way to plan for this, no way of knowing how Henry would react, or to control what would come out of Emma’s mouth and how would she script it anyway? Regina barely had control of herself, out of depth and informal except for her dress, which was-- _I should change. This outfit is ridiculous what was I thinking? I--_

“MOMS?”

A bitten gasp; Regina turned, startled and wide-eyed towards the front of the house -- He was here. She heard Henry’s shoes kicked off against the rack, couldn’t find her tongue to yell at him to put them away.

“Hey Moms? I’m home...”

Emma’s heavy footsteps sounded rapidly down the staircase, and _what if Emma was wearing some sort of leather catsuit?_ Not that Regina remembered owning one, but she couldn’t underestimate Emma -- Or perhaps the blonde wore nothing at all besides Regina’s borrowed underwear, and this conversation would be over very quickly-- Regina started to hyperventilate; leant on the crowded counter and dropped her head to her arms, forehead pressed to cold marble…

In reality, Emma wore a superhero t-shirt half-tucked into a very fine pair of Regina’s light-grey pants. She hugged Henry at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey kid – how’s tricks?”

“Yeah good-- Is that my t-shirt?”

Emma pulled at the black cotton, curiously examined the front. “Why would y’think that?”

“Because it’s Spiderman. It is mine! You’re gonna stretch it with your boobs.”

Emma chuckled, shucked her arm around Henry’s neck. “Yeah well, get used to it kid. Girls love stealing guys’ shirts, it’s what we do.”

Syncopated feet approached the kitchen and Regina sank lower, stretched the contorted tension from her stiffened spine.

“Just buy me a new shirt. Where’s Mom?”

“In here, Henry!” Regina’s voice was too high-pitched, too frantic and she cleared her throat carefully, smoothed it with the squared neckline of her dress.

Henry raised an eyebrow at Emma, and she shrugged; grabbed his backpack and gave him a bowed flourish towards the kitchen door. _Good luck, kid..._

When Henry entered, Regina smiled too broadly, a bright – “Henry!”; and she ran to him, crushed him in an overwrought hug. Emma froze in the doorway, Henry’s backpack slung loosely over her shoulder -- _Jesus, Regina, the kid isn’t returning home from war_. Emma made frantic _cut it out_ motions against her throat until the brunette let him go.

Regina stepped back and smoothed her dress primly, fingers laced in front, a Stepford wife from a ‘50s sitcom against the backdrop of stainless steel and marble. There was an awkward tension, and Henry’s eyes flickered between them – Regina’s tight, painted-on smile; Emma’s feigned nonchalance over a wired jaw.

Henry sighed. “Great, this is gonna be weird.”

“Probably.” Emma shrugged, a faint smile. “ _Moms_ , am I right?” She tossed Henry’s bag haphazardly into a corner.

Regina twitched, fists clenched at her sides and Emma noticed, hyperaware because this room was strained as fuck and it shouldn’t be, not yet. It was already a potentially explosive situation and an agitated Regina was a powder keg – and if anyone was going to lose a limb, it would be Emma. She folded her arms on her chest, lifted her brow and asked casually, “Problem?”

“No, Miss Swan,” Regina replied darkly. “I am perfectly happy to have my kitchen used as a dumping ground.”

“Oh, right.” Emma crossed to the backpack; bent over it and knew the light-grey pants she wore stretched indecently over her ass and thighs, because she’d already tested it upstairs. Emma straightened slowly, hung the bag from a random hook on Regina’s wall and turned, arms re-folded. “Better?”

The blood had drained from Regina’s face, pooled low in her belly – she managed to look quietly furious about it. “ _Much_.”

“Good.”

“Great,” Henry muttered, slid onto a stool at the counter. “Weird _and_ creepy.”

Henry caught sight of the food then, too much of it and mostly his favourite things, and his mood brightened immediately. “Wow Mom, this looks great.”

Regina re-focused on her son, smiled slowly, broadly, a proud flush coloured her cheeks. “Thank you, Henry.”

“Kid’s right Regina, this spread is amazing.” Emma slouched onto a stool next to him, arm stretched onto the decorative chrome bar at his back.

Flustered, Regina smoothed her hair and her skirt -- wondered when she had become _this_ woman, undone by kitchen compliments for skills that were entirely beneath her. “Yes, well – considering the two of you eat mostly from Granny’s and tin cans, I’ll take that with the same alarming amount of salt you consume on a daily basis.”

Two sets of eyes settled pointedly on Emma then, darkly similar, as though every barb from Regina’s mouth was entirely her fault. Emma snorted. “If you don’t like the way we eat, maybe you should have us around more often.”

Regina huffed exasperation, but it masked a rushed pleasure at the idea and Emma knew, ghosted her a smile.

“That would be cool!” Henry grinned, eyes bright. “We could make it a regular thing. We could help you cook - I mean, if you want, I know you’re weird about your kitchen...” Henry shrugged off any objection Regina was about to make; smirked, “My job’ll be to keep Ma distracted. She usually just sets things on fire.”

“Hey! Kid that was once—twice—” Emma bit her lip as she tallied, glared at him. “Shut up Henry.”

Regina laughed then, ducked her head against the smile that betrayed her, a warm glisten that prickled her eyes. “I’ll make sure I refill the fire extinguisher.”

Henry said, “Cool” -- and they were one tentative step closer to everything being ok. Emma gave a lopsided smile, and Regina’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

“So I’m really glad you guys didn’t kill each other last night,” Henry went on, as Regina leant on the counter. “I kinda wondered when you didn’t call. I figured something had happened, and I’m glad it wasn’t that.”

“Sorry kid, forgot.” Emma pushed his shoulder. “It’s not like you wanted us to call anyway.”

“Henry, I’m so sorry!” Regina flurried again, and reached across the counter to him. “I didn’t know we were supposed to call, Emma didn’t—” She skewered Emma with a sharp glare. “You never told me you’d organised anything.”

Emma shrugged weakly, fidgeted, a garish smile.

“Mom, it’s ok, I was joking. Ma’s right - I wanted to play the Wii with Nick, he’s got this--”

“You did your homework first though?” Regina interrupted, sternly -- And with that, the last small part of herself clicked into place. Regina felt almost normal, and perhaps she could do this.

“No Mom, I blew it off. I like being grounded.”

Regina shot him a withering glare but Henry simply grinned, so she shifted the expression to Emma. Emma swallowed her smirk and rose swiftly from her chair, dragged to Regina like a magnet, and Regina pointed her at a cupboard filled with glasses. “You had a good time then?” Regina asked. “Mr Tillman was happy to have you?”

“Of course,” he grinned. “Who wouldn’t be happy? I’m _charming_.”

Emma snorted, glasses in her hands. “You’re _a_ Charming, kid - that doesn’t make you sweet, any more than _Swan_ makes me a white bird with feathers.”

Regina smirked, leant against a kitchen bench and folded her arms. “Actually, I’d say that was a rather apt description of you, Emma.”

“These are curls, Regina. My hair hasn’t been feathered since—well I don’t wanna talk about that.” Emma thunked the glasses down on the counter.

Regina laughed, crossed to the fridge. “Cider or lemonade?”

“Lemon--”

“Cider!”

“Cider it is,” Regina indulged, and leant into icy shelves.

Emma pulled a face at Henry, all tongue and scrunched nose because he knew she hated cider, didn’t understand why anyone would drink non-alcoholic apple anything; and Henry smiled back like butter wouldn’t melt in his damned mouth.

From the fridge, Regina asked, “Have you washed your hands?”

And Emma froze, fingers hovered over the pastelillos -- _What, she just senses these things now?_

“ _I_ was going to…” Henry announced pointedly.

“Same,” Emma lied; grabbed a tiny pastry and ate it en route to the sink.

Regina shook her head, fleeting disapproval but the faintest smile found her mouth as she made space for the jug of cider -- _At least one of my loves has a reasonable grasp on manners..._

In that thought, Regina shattered. She broke along a chest-punched crack of _These are the only people I love_ and _What are we doing here?_ ; at _What if Henry won’t accept this?_ and _What if he asks me choose?_ Regina didn’t know what she would do, because her son was her world but Emma was already so far into her heart that sometimes it almost felt mended, so entwined in their lives that Regina wouldn’t be able to stay here and yet she could never leave, there was nowhere else for her to go…

Regina stumbled against a bench, her knuckles a white-pinched ridge on dark marble as she struggled for equilibrium, for any point of calm.

“ _Breathe, Regina,_ ” Emma murmured quietly against her ear.

Emma was a cove. Her hand slipped next to Regina’s on the benchtop, her lean body offered strength without touching, a stolid shield to this storm and the debris of Regina shifted back into place. She almost leant into Emma -- straightened instead, a sudden, prideful control and she busied herself with things that were already perfect. Emma sidled away.

Henry rubbed his clean hands gleefully as he slipped back onto his stool. “I’m _starving_. Can we eat?”

“Great idea, kid,” Emma grinned broadly, slid in next to him.

Regina cleared her throat; crossed and took a seat at Henry’s other side. “I made too much food,” she said offhandedly, and poured him cider with a mostly steady hand. “But I have a feeling that between the two of you, it won’t go to waste.”

Emma nudged Henry’s shoulder. “Hear that kid? Your Mom just gave us permission to eat everything on the table.”

“She’s pretty awesome,” Henry agreed.

“That was not—”

“I’ll race you…” A devilish glint sparked in Emma’s eyes.

Horror swept onto Regina’s face -- _They wouldn’t_.

Henry nodded, mouth a too-broad smile. “Challenge accepted!”

Regina yelled, “Use your plates!” – but it was a lost cause.

Regina watched stricken as her kitchen devolved into hedonism; too many hands in dishes that weren’t designed for it, too much food shoved into mouths and laughter that meant it didn’t always stay there; elbows jostled and fingers slapped – mostly hers directed at Emma. Their behaviour was uncivilised, _repugnant_ – and Regina found herself swept up in the feeling that it was obscenely right for her home to be this wildly out of control.

She watched them with exasperated wonder, something like disbelief that they were even here, that they would act however badly in front of her because they were so very _comfortable_ – neither cared who she had been, there was no former Evil Queen or iron-fisted Mayor at this table. There was only Regina Mills – who smacked Emma’s hand when she reached across Henry to steal from Regina’s plate.

“Hey! You’re not eating it…”

“Some of us prefer not to swallow our food whole like a python,” Regina replied caustically, and used her knife and fork deliberately on the pastelillo.

Henry snorted at Emma, laughed as she scowled – until an olive hit the back of his head and he choked on his surprise, and whatever currently was in his mouth.

Emma snickered at him, thumped his back. “You right, kid? Nasty cough you’ve got there.”

Regina concentrated innocently on her meal as Henry turned and glared at her, his sternness undermined slightly by disbelief. “You threw _food_ at me.”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Regina denied; ate daintily, the epitome of decorum.

“You saw that right? Ma…?”

Emma shrugged, bit into a sweet-savoury mallorca. “Doesn’t sound like her, kid.”

“Absolutely not,” Regina insisted. “Unlike the two of you, I have _manners_.”

Emma sneered; pointedly raised the olive projectile she’d nabbed behind Henry -- hid it when he turned her way.

Henry’s brow creased, eyes suspiciously narrowed at Emma. “What did you do to my Mom?”

“What? I didn’t do anything...” Emma smirked, “No one can make Regina Mills do a damned thing.”

“Absolutely not.” Regina raised her glass, swallowed traitorous laughter with her cider.

Henry slouched in his stool, arms crossed. “Great. So now I have to deal with _two_ of you.”

“There’s always been two of us, kid,” Emma shrugged.

“Just eat your food, dear.”

Eventually Henry gave up - ate wearily, like an attack could come from any side at any time, and Emma grinned over at Regina who ignored her, though amusement played at her mouth. A conversation still loomed that could devastate, but Regina wondered if perhaps this time she would finally be allowed to keep a contented feeling, that this could be hers, this thing she’d chosen just for herself.

Regina finished eating and wiped her mouth with a napkin, stepped off her stool and primly smoothed her dress. She announced, “I’ll leave the two of you to clean up the mess you’ve made.”

Hands frozen to mouths, two sets of eyes widened bleakly at her.

“You’re leaving us alone with your kitchen?” Henry stuttered.

“You’re _trusting_ us in a kitchen?” Emma added, alarmed.

“I have better things to do. I ask only that you _pretend_ to be civilised until I get back.” Regina kissed her son’s furrowed brow. “Don’t forget to stack the cutlery properly.” She shot Emma a pointed look over his head. “Try not to set anything on fire.”

“Can’t promise anything,” Emma muttered.

Regina rolled her eyes and swept out through a far door towards her garden.

“Weird and creepy,” Henry repeated.

Emma threw Regina’s pocketed olive at him.

*

The air outside was chilled despite the late-afternoon sunshine, but Regina appreciated it. Her mind screamed for her to go back inside, to take command of hearth and home before Emma and Henry razed it to the ground. Regina forced herself instead to the apple tree, a basket hooked over her arm.

She needed just a moment, just a second to herself in a place that grounded her. Besides, it was time she loosened the reins, released a little control – though the notion bone-shakingly terrified her. But it would be the only way to deal with her son and Emma Swan under the same roof.

_Not that Emma lives here now. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves._

Lunch had been a nightmarish dream, a chaotic depiction of everything Regina had always yearned for. Now, she chose the ripest apples from her tree, twisted them gently into her basket and it was familiar, calming, something she had done exactly this way for her entire life. It was controlled, as much as nature could be.

Inside her house was a family. A family Regina had unwittingly become a part of the minute she brought a baby home from Boston. Henry had unwittingly returned the favour ten years later, when he made the same trip and brought Emma home to Storybrooke. Regina had spent many years angry at him for that. Now she would have to find a way to thank him.

Regina just hoped Henry didn’t regret his decision. Once he found out where it had led, she hoped that he stayed - in this house, in her life. Regina hoped they might make this a home again. With Emma…

_And that is quite enough hoping for one day._

Regina crossed curtly to her herb garden. The Swan portion of this family had obliterated her plans for a leftovers-based dinner. She needed supplies. And a much larger basket.

*

Emma held her painfully-full stomach and viewed the destruction they’d wrought on Regina’s kitchen. It was all empty plates and regret, a kind of dispirited sulk that moaned when she moved. “I think we finally overdid it, kid.”

“I kinda hoped she’d use magic,” Henry admitted, hands on his own belly.

“Does she do that? It’d explain a lot...” Emma eyed the otherwise magazine perfection of Regina’s home, and hoped that was the secret.

“No, never. She’s just clean.” Henry pushed to his feet. “But I kinda thought she might if you were here.”

Emma snorted and rose, crossed slowly to the sink. “Like Regina Mills would ever do anything that made my life easier.”

Henry stared after her; collected dirty napkins. He shrugged. “I guess she just doesn’t feel bad enough about today,” he said lightly, and disappeared into the laundry.

Emma stilled, forced herself loose again; called, “What’s that supposed to mean?” In a low cupboard, Emma found a stack of dishtowels and fished two out. She turned as Henry re-entered, leant back against the sink. “Think today’s gonna be bad, kid?”

“Not really. I just hoped she’d _feel_ like it was.” Henry caught the towel Emma threw, circled the counter. “When Mom feels guilty about things, cool stuff happens. How do you think I got so many comic books?”

Emma snorted; wound-up her dishtowel and flicked him with it. “You shouldn’t manipulate your Mom like that, you jerk.”

Henry laughed imp-like, waggled his eyebrows. “Jealous?”

“Hell yeah - think you could get me a motorbike? I’d let you drive it…” Of course it was a joke, but Emma watched as her son filed that away for later consideration.

_Regina is actually gonna kill me one day..._

Emma gathered plates with maximum clatter and Henry glared at her darkly, suddenly so much his mother that Emma’s ribs hurt. “So,” she asked casually, “what’s your Mom doing outside?”

Henry smirked, because Emma was not subtle. “You should check. She’s probably collecting apples or rhubarb or something. She makes killer pie.”

“Not anymore,” Emma grinned.

Henry rolled his eyes. “Ha-ha.” He rattled a handful of untouched serving utensils into the sink, scratched his elbow idly even though nothing itched. “I’m glad you’re trying to be friends now, you and Mom - I think it’ll be... _better_.”

Emma’s mouth dried -- _Not yet Henry, not without Regina here._ She shrugged to derail him. “Hey, I’m just happy for the extra back-up, kid. This is partly a strategic alliance.”  

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Emma rubbed her wet dishtowel across his cheek. “Wash or dry?”

“Gross...” Henry pushed her away, rolled his eyes. “There’s a dishwasher, Ma. I’ll stack ‘cause you’ll do it wrong.” He shoved a pile of dirty plates at her. “You can rinse.”

Emma she was pretty sure there was no wrong way to load a dishwasher - mostly it involved shoving things in and then ignoring them until you needed forks again. She eyed the stack of plates like it was a foreign concept. “What is this ‘rinse’ you speak of?”

“Just lick ‘em until the food’s gone. I’m pretty sure that’s what Mom thinks we’re doing here anyway.”

Emma turned on the tap. “You need a dog, kid. It’ll save us a lot of time.”

A mischievous brightness crept onto Henry’s face as Emma passed him rinsed dishes. “Cool - now I know what to ask for when you guys are done talking to me.”

Emma slumped on the sink with a creaked groan, hands dangled in running water. “Are you trying to get me killed, Henry?”

He shrugged broadening shoulders at her, sorted spoons and knives into their rightful places with nonchalance. “Maybe if somebody bought me a dog sooner, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“I tried to get you Pongo,” Emma whined. “It’s not my fault Regina didn’t _actually_ kill Archie.”

Henry’s face scrunched, an _I can’t believe you just said that_ expression -- He punched Emma’s arm, and she laughed perversely. Emma grabbed him and wiped her wet hands in his thick, dark hair.

Henry refused to speak to her for a whole nine minutes.

*

Regina was relieved to note when she re-entered her kitchen, that it no longer resembled a Jackson Pollock canvas. It wasn’t quite to her standards, but then perhaps they could be exacting.

Her basket was full of apples and peppers, herbs and end-season raspberries - enough to devise at least a two-course meal. That would be plenty for normal people, but Regina was aware Emma and Henry would also require snacks. She pulled a bag of popping corn from a cupboard for later.

Henry was perched on the edge of his stool, and he reached for the last of the fresh apple cider. Emma had moved onto something stronger, sprawled beside him; she offered Regina an over-filled tumbler of dark liquid as she passed and Regina was about to decline, but the furrowed trough of Emma’s brow reminded her what came next, and she accepted it gratefully.

Regina rinsed herbs and apples at the sink, swallowed against the silence that thickened the room. Emma swirled her drink, and the ice clinked the bells of an old alarm clock.

“Henry…” Regina wiped her hands on a dishtowel and crossed to the kitchen counter. She leant on it, shoulders hunched above elbows, forearms hard on the marble, hands laced together in one tight fist. Emma gulped liquor; picked up the bottle hidden between her akimbo thighs and poured again.

Regina caught cool-green eyes purposefully and held them. A self-conscious smile slipped onto the edge of Emma’s mouth and Regina echoed it, dropped her gaze back to her hands. “Henry, Emma and I would like to talk to you about the page you found.”

“It was good, Mom.” Henry swallowed his drink and set his empty glass down lightly on the countertop. “It was a good page, I liked it.”

Regina’s head lifted slowly. “Did you?” Her dark eyes checked every plane of her son’s face until he squirmed. “What did you like about it?”

It was a voluminous question, and Henry shifted beneath the weight of it.

Emma kicked lightly at his chair, a lopsided smirk on her face. “Yeah kid – How’d you feel about your Moms in all that old-timey Enchanted Forest gear?”

He relaxed at the smaller inquiry, grinned at Emma. “Yeah, the sword was pretty cool. It was weird seeing Mom in all that poofy stuff, but not like the Evil Queen.”

“I kinda liked her jacket and boots combo.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “You would.”

Regina watched them with a heart-torn swallow, chased it with the burn of alcohol. She was closer to it now, this ease of conversation between them, more inside than she’d ever been yet Regina still felt slightly removed. She stared into her glass, stroked it lightly.

“Listen kid, your Mom and I really wanted to know why you held off on giving us that page.” Emma glanced sideways at Regina, noticed the dejected slump and it furrowed her brow, but she dragged her eyes back to Henry. “Regina said you found that thing way before Ingrid’s curse, so… Why so long on the big reveal?”

“Dunno,” Henry shrugged. He reached for the cider jug before he remembered it was empty. Regina came immediately to life, fetched him lemonade automatically from the fridge. She poured it for him and Henry watched her intently, avoided Emma’s eyes completely.

Emma’s jaw slowly tightened. “Yeah sorry kid, but that’s not gonna fly. You held off on that page for a reason and we need to know what that is.”

Henry turned his glass in a circle by its rim, mildly churlish when he mumbled out, “It wasn’t the right time yet.”

“What does that even mean, kid?”

Regina shot Emma a hard look; she reached for Henry’s hand, stroked her thumb along his knuckles. “Henry… What was in that page that made you think there would be a ‘right time’?”

Henry shrugged again, a single shoulder. “You looked happy in it. Like you were working together on something, like… a team, but I didn’t think you’d see that if you weren’t _ready_.”

Emma shot Regina an uncertain stare, and Regina caught it briefly, warily, turned back to their son. “Ready for what, Henry?”

He said honestly, “I’m not sure.” Henry sipped lemonade, brow creased. “Grandma-- _Mary Margaret_ says that timing has to be perfect. If you’re out by even a little then you’ll probably miss each other, and sometimes you don’t get a second chance.”

Emma muttered from the corner of her mouth, “Yeah sounds like her,” – and Regina snorted indelicately.

Henry glared at them. “I didn’t give you guys the page because you suck at this stuff. Like, you’re _really_ bad at it.”

“Hey!” Emma wasn’t even sure why she was offended, but she was. “Kid, that’s—”

“You tried to leave Storybrooke!” Henry yelled suddenly at Regina, and she startled, jerked back against the edge of the counter. “You said you were leaving _without me_ ,” he went on, strangled. “And Ma, you’re always running away -- you’re both always running away and it’s not supposed to be like that! You were both so _weird_ after the curse, and I knew if I gave you the page it wouldn’t _mean_ anything, but I know that it does!”

Regina couldn’t breathe then, because Henry was always the air in her lungs but now he bristled, tore at her throat, angry and impenetrable. Her vision swam in kaleidoscope shapes, vein painfully distended on her forehead; she rasped, “Henry, I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel like I could _ever_ live without you.”

Henry slouched in his stool, arms tight over his chest. “It’s not even about that.” He leant forward, spoke forcefully, eagerly. “I think you guys are _meant_ to be friends. I think you’re meant to be family, like it’s supposed to happen and I know I’m not in that page, I know I probably don’t even exist in that timeline or whatever but I think we’re _all_ supposed to be a family, and I think that’s why the Author sent it to me.”

Emma rolled her eyes surreptitiously, reached for her glass. Her son was the True Believer, and Regina seemed to accept the Author as a matter of course, but the idea of some all-powerful being who controlled her from behind the scenes still rankled.

Regina’s voice was small, tattered when she asked, “You want us to be a family?”

And it hadn’t occurred to Regina that this would be where the problem reared, before they ever even mentioned their new relationship. The tension between her and Emma had moved beyond possession over their son long ago, became a forcible distance maintained for reasons far more complicated and personal. Each time Henry chose Emma over her, Regina had simply resigned herself to the fact that he didn’t want her to be a part of his new family. Never had she considered that he wanted her to join them. The idea seemed ridiculous -- and perhaps a few weeks ago, it was.

Regina drained her drink desperately, and Emma refilled it with a sideways glance.

Henry fidgeted agitation, his voice plaintive, frustrated in unmodulated waves. “I don’t know -- I think maybe you guys like each other, you just keep fighting it and I don’t get _why_.” His brow furrowed, and he snapped, “I’m sick of you both acting like you can’t be around each other! Like you can’t get along, so I have to be mad at one of you when I’m around and that’s stupid because you’re _both_ my moms.” The tension in Henry’s shoulders had swallowed his neck, body burdened and heart-sore, face a twisted mess. “I know Emma is the Savior, and I know you were the Evil Queen and you think it has to be that way but it’s not! It doesn’t have to be! You can be friends and the page proves that!”

“ _Kid_ …” Emma had had enough. The people she loved were bent to the edge of broken and that wasn’t what today was supposed to be for. There was time enough for that tomorrow - a lifetime of tomorrows if they played this right.

Emma set the liquor bottle down on the countertop with a heavy-based _thunk_. She leant back in her chair, hands on her knees. “Henry, your Mom and I _are_ friends. I know it doesn’t seem that way because we fight, and I’m not gonna say we won’t anymore because we _absolutely_ will…” Emma shot Regina a rueful smile, and Regina returned it with a ghosted warmth, chagrin. “But you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

“Yes I do!”

“No kid, you don’t.” Out of sight, Emma reached around the counter. Her fingertips brushed against Regina’s thigh, breached the distance too long between them and Regina jolted; stepped closer without thinking. Emma felt centred, clear.

“Look, I know it’s been hard on you kid, it’s been a crappy situation for all of us and yeah, Regina and I haven’t really tried to make that better and there are reasons for that - a _lot_ of reasons…” Emma shrugged uncomfortably, not because she didn’t believe her next words but because they sounded so cookie-cutter in her mouth. “But your Mom and I - we’re trying. Because you’re right, we should be a family. So that’s what we’re gonna do.”

Regina stood beside Emma now, angled behind her; her arm brushed Emma’s back yet she remained nervously aloof. Emma could almost hear the painful thud of Regina’s chest and she leant into her, head touched Regina’s collarbone, blonde curls soft against the square neckline of Regina’s peacock-blue dress.

Henry stared at them as if they’d merged into a strange new planet filled with dragons.

“I don’t get it…” His hazel eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

Emma tilted her head back, looked up at Regina -- a helpless expression shared, the prodded insistence of ‘ _No, you go first…’_ Finally Regina’s jaw steeled and Emma grinned, righted herself; reached for her drink and gulped relief.

Regina rested a tentative hand on Emma’s shoulder. Emma reached for it instinctively, tethered them together despite this choppy sea. “Henry, what would you say if Emma and I were… more than _friends_ …?”

It was an overplayed question, clichéd but it sparked like a new thing in this held-breath room. Henry’s eyes darted over their tableau, over the unconscious way they had mirrored the page he gave them. A chasm of silence yawned, and Regina’s stomach sank slowly into it.

“Oh.” Henry’s brow creased but his eyes were infinitesimally hopeful. “Wait--”

Emma topped her glass with one hand, the other clenched so tightly by Regina that her knuckles stung. Emma didn’t care, because Regina hadn’t let go and they had done this thing, this thing that was bigger than both of them and that was what mattered.

“But… you guys…”

“Let it sink in, kid,” Emma murmured, and sipped alcohol even though she wanted to gulp, considered finding a straw for the bottle because the moment was excruciating -- not because she was worried about Henry, Emma knew now he’d be fine, but clearly Regina didn’t. Behind her, Regina was a steel-locked cage, a thing that shook though she fought it, and Emma pulled their entwined hands down over her shoulder to her sternum, pressed Regina’s knuckles to her much steadier pulse.

Henry’s face scrunched, widened as Regina relaxed into Emma’s touch - and Emma thumped her foot against the edge of his seat, locked him in something of a challenge, a green-flashed warning of -- _Now’s the time to speak, kid_.  

“Oh!” It was puberty-squeaked and Henry reddened; shrugged his shoulders, forced nonchalance. “Oh, cool. I guess I thought that part would take a little longer.”

Emma snorted into her glass. _Whoomp – there it is_.

“Excuse me?” Regina’s mouth was an open question, eyes glinted uncertainty, rims shimmered a wary hope. “Henry—”

“You’re a shit, kid,” Emma smirked, and lightly kicked his leg.

“ _Emma_!”

Henry grinned, shrugged cheeky shoulders. “You guys made me this way. And you _are_ really bad at this. I wanted you to at least be friends, but I figured something would happen eventually.”

“Always aim higher kid,” Emma said wryly, “– you’ll wind up better places.”

Regina was lost again, hovered indecisively, unsure of the exact outcome of this alien conversation. She took a wavered breath, asked, “Henry…?”

“Mom.” He grinned at her, but it wasn’t until he pushed slowly around Emma, fell against Regina’s surprised body that she finally registered everything was ok. Henry was fine – he was better than fine, cocky about the situation, like it had been his doing and Regina was more than happy to let him have that.

Regina wrapped her arms around him, laid her cheek against his hair and didn’t bother to fight her tears because at this point, there was little else she could do. She kissed his forehead, held him tighter and he didn’t complain, squeezed her in return.

Emma watched them with a goofy smile, frowned slightly when Regina mouthed ‘ _Thank you_ ’ over their son’s head because she hadn’t done anything, not really – no more than Regina had, no more than Henry had, this strange little family unit they’d formed. Emma’s chest was too warm then, bitten from throat to belly, the kind of burn that happened when you stood too close to the fire after a bitter-cold walk through the snow.

Henry pulled away just a little, slipped to Regina’s side with her arm hooked around his shoulders. He grinned mischievously, a pointed prod to his voice when he asked, “So, do you guys love each other?”

“ _Henry_ ,” Regina admonished, a nervous glance at Emma that never made it past the blonde’s hands.

Emma smirked. “Yeah kid, we do.” She stood and ruffled his hair, avoided Regina’s eyes because they had widened and narrowed at the same time and that shouldn’t be possible.

“Cool.” Henry stepped out from under Regina’s lax arm and just like that, he was done. “Wanna play Xbox?”

“ _Yes_.” Emma rolled her eyes deliberately. “What kind of a question is that? I’ll kick your ass, go set it up.”

Regina startled when Henry kissed her cheek, drawn from the murkiness she’d slipped into - it never occurred to her to argue against video games while it was light outside, and Henry quickly escaped. Regina was fixated on Emma, a flintlock glare. The blonde was seemingly enamoured of her own feet.

Regina turned away silently, crossed the kitchen coolly to the popping corn on a far bench. She used scissors to open the bag because her hands shook too much to be trusted -- residual anxiety, and the sibilant thrum of renewed frustration.

“Regina--”

“I am making popcorn. You should join Henry. I’ll be in later.”

Emma’s footsteps padded up slowly behind her, and Regina wanted so much to move, to shift her frayed dignity to the stove but instead she found herself leant heavily against the bench, candy-striped knuckles tight around its edge, her head bent and eyes squeezed shut.

“Regina…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Regina rasped quietly. “Henry knows and it went perfectly well. I’m happy we did it.”

Emma’s hand touched her shoulder and Regina flexed against it; Emma stroked lightly, gripped until the entreaty burnt a brand to Regina’s skin and Regina turned, leant back against the benchtop, stone dug into the iron rod of her spine. She crossed her arms tightly, cocked an aloof eyebrow and waited, an unimpressed challenge to her prideful jaw.

“Regina…” Emma’s hands found the pockets of Regina’s expensive borrowed pants and dug in too deeply, her shoulders pushed to her ears. She murmured: “You know I love you, right?”

Sudden salt prickled Regina’s eyes but her clenched teeth gave no ground - it wasn’t enough, not now. Regina had not said _I love you_ lightly or easily, torn from a raw-nerve excavation still fresh enough to bleed, and when Emma didn’t say it back…

If Emma thought she could get away with this rhetorical question, an open-ended prompt that perhaps Regina would fall into then clearly Emma had forgotten exactly who she dealt with. Regina pushed white teeth through red lips, icicles on a metal awning. “Usually I try to avoid excess butter on Henry’s popcorn, but perhaps today I’ll make an exception.” Regina snatched up the bag of popping corn and brushed airily past Emma towards the stove.

Emma stood dumbly in her wake, turned and stared after her, mouth twisted open by something close to offense - but there was no foundation for Emma’s irritation and it collapsed in on itself. Emma puffed air loudly through resigned lips. “Ok, so you’re pissed at me and I deserve that.”

Regina busied herself with a heavy-based saucepan; lit the stovetop and settled it in place, managed not to halt her movements as Emma approached her stiffened back. Regina poured the oil into the pan and Emma’s hands slid over Regina’s hips, her body soft against Regina’s rigid spine. Emma rested her chin on Regina’s shoulder. Blonde strands of hair brushed Regina’s jaw, tickled at the squared neckline of her dress and along the skin of her arm at the edge of a capped blue sleeve.

“Let me try that again.” Emma kissed the sensitive ridge of Regina’s ear, lips pressed to it and she whispered, “ _I love you._ ”

Regina stilled. She fought the urge to relax into Emma’s lean body, gravelled, “I didn’t hear that, Miss Swan - kindly speak up.”

Emma chuckled into the long line of Regina’s neck, tasted the pulse that fluttered there at her breath. “I said _I love you_ , Regina.” Emma slipped her hands over Regina’s hipbones, laced her fingers together on Regina’s stomach. “I would’ve said it sooner but I’m bad at this. But I’m saying it now.” Emma mouthed the curved juncture of Regina’s neck and shoulder, said again, “I love you.”

Regina had forgotten how to breathe. She thought the mechanics had something to do with the clean-sliced centre of her chest, the place that ached as Emma’s words carved themselves on her bones, stitched themselves to the so-new muscle beneath her stung ribs. She rasped, “Say it again.”

Emma quirked a smile against the muscle of Regina’s shoulder, kissed it lightly. “I love you, Regina.”

Regina spun in Emma’s arms. She turned in fury, in fire, in agonised longing - she was a mid-summer storm, the torrential rain that made liars out of blue skies and sunlight. Regina stared at Emma, hard eyes and a furrowed brow, dared Emma to take it back. “ _Again_.”

Emma shrugged a careless shoulder. “I love you. But if you want me to keep saying it we should probably move away from that burner – I really can’t be trusted.”

Regina’s palms hit Emma’s chest – she shoved her backwards until the blonde crashed against the kitchen counter and then Regina’s mouth was on her, full of Emma, full of her words and her breath, her tongue and the muffled chuckle that dropped into a low moan. Regina’s hands were thick in Emma’s hair -- Regina kissed her with the blind panic of _What now?_ and the undeniable certainty of _She is with me_. Regina kissed Emma with a neediness she would never speak, and now she didn’t have to. And when they finally came up for air, Regina took that from Emma too.

“Shoulda done this sooner,” Emma grinned lopsidedly, breathless.

Regina fought her smile, rolled her eyes and growled against Emma’s bruised lips, “But you’re an idiot.”

Emma shrugged. “That says as much about your decision-making skills as mine.” She stole another kiss before Regina pushed her away.

Regina smoothed her rumpled dress, her dark hair and Emma caught her chin, lifted it. Emma stroked her thumb along Regina’s lower lip, claimed _‘lipstick_ ’ – but Regina knew it wasn’t that. She kissed the pad, the middle of Emma’s palm, pressed her cheek into it.

“Our son is waiting for you,” Regina husked. Light danced in her eyes and she blinked to clear it, searched for her own voice in her desert-dry throat. Regina found it, clipped tones when she added, “Don’t think that either of you will be spending the entire weekend in front of that mindless game box.”

Emma chuckled. “He won’t last that long. I’m gonna kill him so fast.”

Regina glared narrowly at Emma. “I take it that violence will be limited to on-screen actions?”

Emma threw up her hands and started to back out of the kitchen. “I’m not making any promises Regina. The kid’s a pain, and you know what they say about video games and violence…” Emma grinned wildly; whirled out of the kitchen and the wooden door swung shut behind her.

Regina’s composure collapsed and she fell heavily against the kitchen counter, shook like an earthquake, all stored tension and disbelief, fear and succour. A strange rumbled laughter flooded her chest, welled in her throat; it tasted foreign and sweet in her mouth and Regina suspected it could be joy.

_Henry did not leave. I still have my son._

Regina breathed deliberately, coaxed her unravelled parts in from all corners of the kitchen, waited until they settled into strange new places, a configuration inside her more oddly comfortable than it had been before.

Regina commanded her hands steady as she went back to the stovetop.

_Emma loves me._

Regina poured a wave of popping corn into the heated pan and it felt benign and casual and nothing at all like the rest of her.

_Emma is…_

Regina almost shattered with this, with the possibility of a future – not just an existence but a _life_ , with a family and something so close to a Happy Ending that perhaps there was no difference. It was more than Regina was able to grasp - not because she didn’t want those things; she did, more than anything else she had ever wanted.

_This is all I’ve ever wanted._

It was simply that Regina had never allowed herself to believe, or even to hope beyond a surface daydream that her happiness might actually one day happen - at least, not in any truthful way. Now Regina came apart even as she was put back together.

She concentrated instead on popcorn. That would be ready soon. The rest would take time, and at least time was something Regina had.

_We have a future._

_We have a future together._

_This is everything._

*****

 

**Please let me know what you thought if you have the time. Your feedback, feelings and speculations keep me going.**

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Regina stared at the hands twisted in her lap, fiddled with one painted nail. “Once everyone finds out about us, about Emma and I… Things are going to be-- difficult. For all of us, but perhaps especially for you. People are going to try to tell you things--”_
> 
> _“Screw ‘em,” Henry cut her off, an open-mouthed sneer._
> 
> _“Henry!”_
> 
> _“Yeah kid, screw ‘em.” Emma raised her hand for his high-five._
> 
> "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to my Swan-Mills Family trashbag. I had planned to add the Charmings in this section, but what can I say? Mind you don't choke on all the extra fluff.
> 
> Also, this section was split for length. I know you've all been hanging for an explicit scene filled with I Love Yous (if you haven't - whoops, too bad) -- It has been written! The whole thing just got a bit too long to post. But the rest will go live in the next couple days, and I hope you enjoy this anyway.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kudos and comments - they sustain me.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_36\. [ He knows ]_ **

Henry set their gamestravaganza up in a big-screen TV room that took Emma a little while to find. Of course she knew Regina owned a TV, at least in theory - but she still found herself kind of surprised to see it.

Emma had never been allowed to wander freely around Regina’s home before, and it felt oddly intimate. But then, Emma currently wore a borrowed pair of Regina’s lacy g-string underwear, so it wasn’t really close to being the most notable thing that had happened today.

She threw herself down on the couch next to Henry and grabbed a controller, joined him in the magic-style war adventure they’d both been hooked on in New York. Emma had come a long way from fifth-level wizard, a magical kick-ass Knight now and she was pretty proud of it – a lot of downtime well-spent while Henry was at school. Her character blew through a door and Henry ran in to clear out Goblins, while she turned and fought-off an angry looking centaur-thing.

Emma shot Henry a sideways glance, looked back to the fight. “Sure you’re ok with this, kid?”

Absorbed by the game, Henry’s brow creased. “Yeah, ‘course - took you guys long enough.”

It quirked Emma’s lip, and she kept tapping buttons until the man-horse fell beneath her sword -- _Neat._

“You haven’t told her yet, have you?”

“Told who what?” Emma’s wizard-knight followed Henry out through a castle door.

“Mom. You didn’t tell her you love her. Her eyes did that thing when you said it in the kitchen - she looked like you poured a drink on her or something. She wasn’t happy.”

“Yeah…” They were in a small town at the edge of a field now, which usually pre-empted a battle. “Joke’s on you kid, ‘cause I just told her.”

“Oh.” Henry’s eyes flicked to Emma, a brief-flash smile that lit up his face. “Good.”

Emma grinned, bit her lip. “Yeah.”

“You know I saw this coming _ages_ ago right?” Henry led their characters to a store they raided for ammo.

“Uh huh, sure you did.”

Regina paused outside the TV room and breathed slowly. All day her stomach had rolled in waves, but smaller each time. Now it took just a second before she squared her shoulders and threw back her hair.

Regina breezed through the door behind them with a bowl of hot-buttered popcorn and a tray of drinks perfectly balanced. She sighed when she saw the screen, but leant over the back of the couch and kissed Henry’s temple. When Emma’s cheek received the same casual welcome, Emma walked her character into a wall. Henry snickered, and Emma elbowed him roughly. “Hear that, Regina? Smartbutt here knew we were in love _ages ago_.”

“Oh?” Regina crossed in front of the screen and two heads bobbed to see around her. “Did he really?”

“Well, maybe not _in love_ …”

“You’re backtracking, kid.”

Regina put the bowl and tray down on the coffee table and waited until they both shifted over on the couch. She sank in beside Henry, turned to watch them, elbow propped against the back of the couch and knees tucked up beneath her. “When did you know, Henry?”

He shrugged, eyes on the screen. “I dunno… Probably, Peter Pan? Something was up then – you were too _nice_ when you sent Ma and me away.”

Emma snorted; ignored Regina’s sharp glare and followed Henry into battle.  

“I probably would’ve pushed you guys sooner,” Henry added, “If we hadn’t forgotten everything.”

“Is that right?” Regina asked, gentle amusement in her tone.

“Someone had to. You guys were dumb.”

Emma snorted again, and Regina stared wryly at both of them. But Regina’s mouth curved when she murmured, “I think we did alright…”

Emma shot a smile over Henry’s head, and Regina met her dimpled cheeks with a furtive warmth. It slipped away before her next sentence. “Henry - there is something else we need to talk to you about…”

An on-screen battle raged so Emma kept playing, but her attention was torn to Regina, unsure of what came next.

Regina stared at the hands twisted in her lap, fiddled with one painted nail. “Once everyone finds out about us, about Emma and I… Things are going to be-- _difficult_. For all of us, but perhaps especially for you. People are going to try to tell you things--”

“Screw ‘em,” Henry cut her off, an open-mouthed sneer.

“ _Henry!_ ”

“Yeah kid, screw ‘em.” Emma raised her hand for his high-five, neither set of eyes turned from the screen.

“ _Emma…_ ” But there was no real bite to Regina’s tone, an unnerved wariness.

“I can handle it, Mom.”

“You may think that now, Henry, but when people here—”

Henry sighed and paused the game, turned to her and their knees touched. “I can handle it. _We_ can handle it, because you’re both my moms and nobody can say anything to change that.”

“Henry…” Regina watched as Emma tucked herself in behind their son, chin on his shoulder, a crooked-lip smile. Regina stared at her, at both of them, lost because this territory was so new.

Emma stretched her arm along the back of the couch beside Henry until her fingertips traced Regina’s knuckles. Regina felt it like a kite string. “Henry, it won’t be that easy. Emma is very well-loved in this town, and the idea that the Savior could end up with the Evil Queen is not something most people will want, or even believe. They are going to try very hard to convince you both—”

“I don’t like the Evil Queen already, so _whatever_ ,” Henry argued. “You’re not her anymore, you’re my Mom and you’re good now, and I don’t care what you used to be. Nobody’s gonna make me not love you. And if anyone tries…” Henry unpaused the game, pressed his controller and a fire-fuelled explosion threw ogres and war-carts high into the air. He echoed the sound effects with his mouth, revelled in this synthetic destruction.

A wet glint sparked Regina’s scorched-chocolate eyes, because she knew her son’s unwavered optimism was misplaced but always loved him more for it. But she cleared her throat, warned carefully, “Henry, you know I don’t _ever_ want you to be violent.”

“Yeah kid, no violence.” Emma returned to her controller and joined Henry in his on-screen obliteration.

“Why would I even need be violent?” Henry smirked. “Have you seen my moms? No one’s getting close enough for me to hit. You guys are the bad-asses around here.”

“Hear that, Mills? We’re _bad-asses_.” Emma held up her hand in front of Henry for a high-five.

Regina stared at it, twisted vexation, and crossed her arms pointedly.

“Seriously? You’re gonna leave me hanging?” Emma shook her head. “Not cool, Mills.” Henry slapped Emma’s hand away and Emma sighed pointedly, returned to their game.

Under her breath, Regina muttered, “What _have_ I gotten myself into?”

Henry smiled broadly at the screen, nodded brightly to himself. “A family.”

“You love it,” Emma dismissed.

Regina rolled her eyes and pushed herself back against the couch, arms folded a little tighter.

But she did love it.

More than she could ever say.

*

Eventually Henry cajoled Regina into trying their game; thrust his controller at her and Regina rewarded him by walking his character directly off a bridge. Henry dissolved into laughter, the ease of a kid who had saved and thought this was worth it. Regina glared, but she tried again.

When finally she got the hang of things, Emma gave up - too enthralled by Regina’s face as she played, the way she yelled at the screen when something went wrong or the way she stuck the tip of her tongue from the edge of her mouth as she concentrated. Instead, Emma and Henry leant together on the couch, offered Regina instructions and gave a much-less helpful running commentary on her progress. They ate too much popcorn and were regularly flailed at for less-than-flattering remarks.

It was all fine, until Regina blundered Henry’s knight-errant into a magic-fuelled battle and panicked; ran him in tight circles until someone set him on fire. Then Regina handed the controller back to her son and announced gruffly, “I don’t think I like this game.”

Emma laughed expulsively.

The unfettered sound darkened Regina’s brow, narrowed her eyes; she sniffed, “Unlike the two of you, I have better things to do with my time than play with silly toys.”

“You’re Mom’s a sore loser, kid,” Emma gravelled. Her impudence stiffened Regina’s spine, but before the brunette rose, Emma threw herself over Henry’s legs and kissed Regina, despite the hands that slapped at Emma’s arms and the lips too obstinate to allow entry, her fingers hooked in Regina’s hair.

“Ew gross, get off me!” Henry complained, and pushed at Emma’s sprawled body.

Finally, Regina melted slightly, and Emma chuckled against her mouth. She pulled back for Regina’s eyes and searched them. The whole world was there; it gleamed and sparked. “Get used to it kid – you asked for this.”

“I take it back,” Henry humphed. “You should hate each other.”

“Too late for that.” Emma kissed Regina again lightly, let herself be pushed from the couch by both of them. She stood and offered Regina her hand, perfectly Charming. “I’ve got her now and there’s no going back.”

Regina arched an eyebrow, lips sliced through the warmth of her cheek. “Is that so?” Regina stood slowly, smoothed her dress primly, face the perfectly aloof mask of one who wore it well, regardless of who believed it. “I wouldn’t be so cocky, Emma. I am not known as a woman who can be _gotten._ ”

Regina strode smoothly from the room. Emma scowled in her wake.

Henry snorted. “You’ve met my Mom, right? She’s not gonna swoon for you.”

“What do you even know about swooning, kid?” Emma shot gruffly, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the door.

“I know some girls do it, but my Mom isn’t one. She was a Queen.”

Emma fell loosely into a smile, one shoulder shrugged. “Still is, kid.” She roughed Henry’s hair. “C’mon - let’s go see what _her Majesty_ wants us to do next.”

“Probably chores,” Henry muttered.

“We’ll stage a coup.” Emma shrugged, grinned. “Unless there’s pie.”

*

There was pie. Regina ordered them both around her kitchen as she baked, curt demands for utensils and trays that neither Henry nor Emma could identify, and Regina grew increasingly irritated as they stole carefully arranged ingredients and generally got under foot.

Regina prepared a filling of lightly stewed apples and pert raspberries, infused with cinnamon and spices that Emma questioned, and Regina was appalled Emma had never knowingly encountered cardamom. She handed over the seeds as she shelled them and Emma scrunched her nose at the piquant, citrusy scent. “You’ll need to grind them.”

Emma looked lost and Regina sighed, wiped her hands on her apron. She led Emma to a bench and flourished. “I’m sure you’re familiar with one of these?”

Emma eyed the small coffee-bean grinder and of course she was, but she tilted her head anyway. “Tiny spaceship for ants?”

Regina gritted her teeth, scowled; unimpressed even as Emma grinned, snaked one lazy arm around her waist and tugged her in. Emma rubbed her thumb against Regina’s hairline, at what Regina presumed was streaked flour and Regina drawled, “No one finds you funny, _Miss Swan_.”

“I do!” Henry announced helpfully from the counter, where he’d been tasked with slicing peppers for the main course.

Regina turned on him, eyebrow arced and arms crossed. “You should ask your friends Nick and Ava about the witch I used to know, who gave me a wonderful recipe for _child pie_.”

Henry snorted. “I’ve grown up a bit, Mom. You’re gonna need a bigger oven.”

Emma chuckled against Regina’s hair, hands on her hips and Regina leant back into her without thinking. Henry returned to his objective like nothing strange happened here -- everything dammed in Regina’s throat, pooled wetly in her eyes, ribs strained even as her mouth curved delicately against gravity. “Yes, I suppose you have,” Regina murmured softly.  

Emma kissed Regina’s head and moved back to the grinder, and Regina fought to keep herself together; brittled out, “I’ll have Granny order me a larger oven this week.”

Henry scoffed, moved on to pull bulbs of garlic from a pile of leafed greens. He peeled the skin with confidence, chopped the cloves with ease.

Regina rolled out the pie dough with automatic hands, slightly disconnected from herself, from this person far happier than she knew how to be. She envied her and was her all at the same time, and Regina wondered how long it would take for this fissured displacement to be fixed, and what would happen to her when it was.

_Do I have room for this much goodness_?

Bitterness was small, it was sharp and stored easily. This happiness swelled in Regina’s tight skin. Her only option was to grow. She had to shed. There were things Regina didn’t need anymore.

“Hey ‘Gina? I think I broke your ant spaceship…”

Regina rolled her eyes in pained sockets, mouth loosely exasperated. “Of course you did,” she muttered, acerbic and dry.

Regina wiped her hands on her apron again, and went to rescue her grinder.

*

Sunset had snuck in, the garden dyed a deep russet beyond the windows and it surprised Regina. It seemed time had disappeared for everything but the carefully scheduled buzzers she set for their food.

The kitchen had slipped into easy conversation, the kind of comfortable it took a lifetime to build but was somehow already there. Every now and then it struck her or Emma and one of them froze, until Regina brushed Emma’s hand or, Emma touched Regina’s spine or, Henry nudged both of them and the carnival began again.

The food looked amazing because of course it did, fresh-cooked pasta followed by perfectly crusted pie, sided by ice-cream Regina made from scratch – _‘Who needs the Snow Queen when we’ve got Mom?’_ They ate in the elaborate dining room, everyone scrunched together at one end of the long oak table and Regina regretted every stiffly formal meal it had housed before. This was better.

Henry stole a berry from Regina’s plate and Regina elbowed him, and when he laughed she grabbed his head with both hands, kissed his cheek wetly over and over as he protested and Regina laughed, throatily because she’d never been close enough to her son to tease him like this before -- It had little to do with the table.

Every now and then, Emma’s fingers slid to Regina’s arm, or Regina’s hand brushed Emma’s knee, thoughtless touches until the minute after they happened, when a cheek flushed or eyes looked away. It was the easy that caught them. Dinner ended and Henry pleaded for a movie, and Regina conceded because while it was late, she didn’t want the evening to end.

“Pick something we’ll _all_ enjoy, please,” she warned, and by ‘all’ she meant her, because likely Emma would just as happily collapse in front of cartoons as their son.

Emma helped collect plates when Henry rushed off, and they carried them quietly to the kitchen together. “You ok?”

Regina nodded but said nothing, quickly left Emma again and went back to clear the dining room because she wasn’t sure yet if her nod had been true. She returned to the kitchen with full arms and Emma helped her sombrely, piled things next to the filled sink.

Regina dropped her last handful of cutlery carefully into the soapy water. She relented then, pressed herself into Emma’s reassuringly warm side. “Are _you_ ok?”

Emma shrugged a shoulder and ran more water, a rueful grin, brow creased. “Yeah I think I am.” Emma leant on the sink, shrugged again. “I mean it’s weird because it’s not weird, y’know?”

Regina smiled; pressed her forehead to Emma’s jaw, nose tucked against the blonde’s neck. “I do.” She kissed Emma’s skin, the pulse that beat steadily there. “If I’m honest, I’m not really sure what to do about it…”

Emma released a loudly puffed breath and crumpled down. “Oh thank god because I am freakin’ lost here.”

Regina chuckled into blonde curls, kissed Emma’s head. “Perhaps we should take a leaf from Henry’s book and just pretend that this is all completely normal.”

“Yeah, how’d he get so well-adjusted?” Emma complained. “I thought you were the Evil Queen – shouldn’t he be more screwed up than that?”

Regina rolled her eyes, a rougher kiss on Emma’s hair. “Well I tried my best,” she said drily, “But I believe you’re the one responsible for his resilient genes.”

“No way, lady.” Emma turned, chin jutted. “No one’s ever accused me of being well-adjusted about anything.”

Regina snorted at that, dropped her hand into the sink and flicked Emma with water.

Emma was a wide-mouthed gasp, partially-mock outrage. “Really? You really wanna start that?”

At the challenge, Regina grabbed Emma by her ridiculous superhero shirt, tugged the blonde to her mouth and kissed her fiercely. The fight left Emma almost immediately, and some of her balance - she fell against the sink when Regina let her go.

Regina smiled darkly. “If you throw any of that dishwater at me, Emma, I can promise you that you will _drown_.”

Emma smirked despite her ragged breath, arms folded as Regina turned away.

Regina resumed loading the dishwasher, bent over it, and her dress pulled tight across her hips. Emma reached out and ran her fingers over the perfect curve. She pushed lightly between Regina’s thighs and stroked her with purpose, and Regina fell against the metal rack, barely saved the glass that slipped in her hand.

“I can think of better places to drown,” Emma drawled behind her, voice loose-cut gravel in her throat.

Regina slapped Emma’s hand away sharply without turning. Emma chuckled to herself, resumed her place at the sink.

It took some time before Regina found the sense to move again.

*

Henry had decided on Indiana Jones, and Regina was pleased to have a night free of Star Wars if only because she knew the dialogue as fluently as her son now, and probably Emma was the same. She had refused to make more popcorn given the hour, but relented on hot cocoa and three mugs steamed on the coffee table.

Henry had slumped pointedly into one end of the couch and wouldn’t move when Regina hovered. Regina glared at him, and though she couldn’t think why, a panicked pinch nipped at her chest. Emma stepped around their stand-off, slouched in next to Henry.

“Regina we don’t need to bookend the kid,” Emma smirked, and pulled Regina’s hand until she reluctantly sank down beside her. “He’s not here to chaperone, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

_“Emma.”_

“Gross,” Henry muttered, and dug his feet into Emma’s side.

Emma chuckled, one arm slung over Regina’s stiffened shoulders and though Regina huffed, the brunette soon tucked her bare feet up against the end of the couch, dropped her head onto Emma’s chest anyway. Sandwiched between the two of them, Emma had never enjoyed the opening sequence of _Raiders_ more, or paid attention to it less.

_Family movie night. How even is this?_

The first time Indy pulled his whip, Regina made enthusiastic lightsabre sounds. Henry nearly rolled off the couch, ribs held to startled laughter.

Emma narrowed her eyes, disbelief on her open mouth. “Regina Mills, you’re a _nerd_.”

“Nerds are very cool right now,” Regina yawned. She curled onto her side, rested her head in Emma’s lap. “Clearly you don’t understand children these days, _despite_ still being one.”

“Shut up, nerd,” Emma jeered.

Soon enough it became a thing, every sound effect replaced by a Star Wars equivalent and Emma guessed that’s what they did now. They had _bits_ together. Just the three of them.

Around it all, Regina stroked Emma’s knee with her thumb and Emma ran her fingers through Regina’s dark hair, kneaded her skin absently.

Emma felt Henry’s eyes on her, turned her head and stuck out her tongue -- but Henry wore a strange smile on a faraway face, and when the screen flickered Emma swore his eyes were a little damp. Emma rubbed her son’s foot where it pressed against her hip and left him to it.

Emma was happy.

She guessed maybe they all were.

*

By the time Indy made it to Cairo, Regina snored softly on Emma’s thigh and Henry fought to stay awake beside her. It had been a big day, and tomorrow would only be bigger.

“Hey, Henry…?”

Henry’s head jerked and he sniffed loudly. “I’m up.”

“So convincing,” Emma smiled. She cleared her throat, said quietly, “Hey, I forgot to tell you we’re having lunch with your grandparents tomorrow.”

Henry stiffened, more awake. “Like, without me? Are you gonna tell them about you guys?”

“Actually…” Emma fidgeted, careful not to wake Regina. “Kid I’m really sorry, we wanted to tell you first but David caught us in the Clocktower after that thing with Rumpel—”

“Gross Mom,” Henry complained. “I don’t need to know this.”

Emma scoffed. “We were only _kissing_ , it wasn’t bad.”

“My complaint stands,” Henry grinned, and nudged her with his toes.

“ _Whatever_. The point is kid, you’re invited but you don’t have to come if you don’t want to, I mean it’ll probably be weird but probably no one’ll die…” Emma exhaled forcefully, muttered under her breath, “I can’t guarantee that.”

Henry wrapped his arms around his bent knees, sat up against them. “Are you really worried? About Grandma and Mom?”

Emma shrugged shallowly, her fingers moved again through Regina’s hair. “I don’t know. I am and I’m not. Families are weird and I guess—I don’t know what will happen. There’s a lot going on and it’s not bad it’s just, it’s different. I’ll get used to it. We’ll see, I guess.”

Henry dropped his chin to his knees and nodded; stared at the stroked movement of Emma’s hands through Regina’s hair. “I’m really happy you’re together,” he murmured. Henry tilted his face up at Emma, and that oddly self-conscious smile came again. “I think you’re really good for Mom.”

Emma’s lips parted with a wave of liquid warmth that carved a canyon through her chest, spilled in her eyes, sudden and unexpected. “I love her, Henry. She’s good for _me_.” Emma’s voice cracked. “Anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t know her like we do.”

“Screw ‘em,” Henry repeated. He grinned.

“Yeah kid, exactly.” Emma cupped his head, stroked his cheek with her thumb. “Alright, time for bed.”

Henry yawned and stretched broadly, slid his feet to the floor without argument.

Regina stirred in Emma’s lap, mumbled, “Did I miss it?”

“Yeah you missed everything,” Emma said softly. “Henry’s thirty now. He’s getting married.”

Regina shot upright a second before she realised Emma teased her, and she glared darkly, snapped, “That’s only funny if you’ve never encountered a Sleeping Curse. Which means you, Emma, are not funny.”

“I’m hilarious,” Emma brushed her off. She stood and hugged Henry tightly, kissed his hair. “’Night kid. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah?” He grinned. “Are you staying?”

Emma realised her mistake, shifted awkwardly, stared at her feet and tried desperately to gauge Regina’s reaction in her peripheral vision. “I didn’t--”

“Of course I’d like Emma to stay,” Regina said softly, cautious eyes fixed only on her son. “But this is your home too Henry, and if you’re not comfortable with her staying--”

“No, she should! But can we still have our Sunday Special?”

Emma watched Henry’s anticipatory excitement, Regina’s wryly amused consideration.

“I suppose that’s possible,” Regina drawled.

“Yes!” Henry’s fist pumped. He threw himself at Regina and hugged her tightly and a delighted chuckle rolled from her mouth. Henry kissed Emma’s confused cheek, jogged off to bed. “See you in the morning!”

“Not too early kid,” Emma called after, and Henry responded with something that could’ve been accession but could’ve been anything. Emma turned to Regina, brow furrowed. “What’s that about?”

“A breakfast tradition,” Regina replied enigmatically.

“Ooh, I love breakfast.” Emma slid down on the couch beside Regina. “It’s one of my favourite meals of the day.”

Regina bit back obvious responses about Emma’s eating habits and leant back into her instead. Emma kissed the place where Regina’s neck became shoulder, her hand draped loosely over Regina’s thigh. Regina entwined their fingers and the silence was comfortable, relieved after a tremulous day.

Indy fought on quietly in the background but neither woman paid him any attention. Emma stared at the tapestry of their hands, the way their knuckles knotted perfectly together. She breathed Regina’s hair, the complicated mix of floral shampoo and sandlewood-undertoned perfume; cooking spices and the thing that was uniquely her. Emma had started to realise it smelled like home.

“Regina… I love you. I know I said that today but I meant it and I wanted you to know--” Emma shrugged against Regina’s shoulder, kissed her ear. “Just that, I guess. Just I love you.”

Regina’s throat caught quietly on ragged things, and she traced the woven lines of their fingers; rasped, “I love you too.”

“Good.” Emma kissed Regina’s hair, fought to dissipate the weightiness that settled around them. “I don’t wanna walk upstairs - poof us to bed?”

Regina scoffed, pushed back pointedly against Emma’s chest. “I am not your personal delivery service -- Do it yourself.”

Emma cocked an eyebrow, planted her chin on Regina’s shoulder. “Ok, sure. What could possibly go wrong?”

Emma lifted her hand and Regina grabbed her wrist, squeezed it tightly. “Do not even _try_ ,” she warned. “I do not wish to appear in the middle of nowhere sans _any_ of my parts.”

“Yeah I like your parts,” Emma murmured against the shell of Regina’s ear.

Regina bit back a smile, muttered, “You are very lucky I love you, Emma Swan.”

“I know,” Emma said simply.

Regina raised her hand.

_No, I’m lucky._

It was Regina’s last thought before a cloud of purple engulfed them.

*****

**Choke on all that fluff? Hope not, but let me know in the comments section below - I love talking to you guys!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Emma pressed against her, a deeply concave curve and Regina kissed her shoulder, nuzzled the line of Emma’s neck. Emma’s head tilted for better access, a soft sigh and she untangled their fingers, cupped Regina’s hand to her breast."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I held back on this chapter because it needed something. I think I found it?  
> I guess I'll let it speak for itself.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading, commenting and your kudos. You are why I'm still here.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

**_37\. [ (Quietly) ]_ **

Regina’s body begged a shower before bed. She felt caked with cooking and soil, with salt left by each moment of the day she had sweated through. Unnecessarily -- It had turned out perfectly. Her son was happy. Emma seemed happy. Regina was… She didn’t know what she was.

_Better._

Regina relaxed into the water. It was new, this feeling of being together – not just with the people around her but in herself, and while she remained somewhat suspicious of any settled feeling, given years of certainties that had proved false, she was determined to try and trust this.

Or at least pretend until she did.

Regina stepped from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, another rubbed lightly against the wet ends of her hair. Emma was sprawled face-down on the bed, clad in a satin pyjama shirt and not much else. The blonde breathed deeply, slowly; asleep. Affection pulled at Regina’s lips and she perched on the edge of an overstuffed armchair, watched Emma, the trusted openness of her body splayed on the comforter, so strange even now in the filtered light of Regina’s bedroom.

Just a few weeks ago, the idea that Emma Swan would leave herself bared this way, especially to Regina - even fully clothed in a brightly lit space - would have been unimaginable. Neither was known for their trust. Suspicion and blame had rarely been misplaced between them. This relationship that happened now seemed so very unlikely.

Regina didn’t care.

_She is mine._

_I am hers._

_This is everything._

Regina smiled to herself, towelled her hair just enough that it should dry in waves rather than a frizz, one of the secrets she straightened every morning before anyone else saw.

Emma would learn these simple things, would see behind the costumes and mask Regina had crafted so carefully for herself over the years. There was nothing to be done for it. Emma was here now. There was little more Regina could hide.

She returned her towels to the bathroom and softly approached the bed. A startled Emma could be an outflung thing; Regina had learnt that in her car, unsurprising given Emma’s history. Regina slid carefully in beside her, tried hard not to wake Emma - stretched out with her chin propped in her hand.

“Sellin’ muffins,” Emma murmured, mouth muffled by a pillow.

Regina’s brow raised. “What, dear?”

Emma turned violently onto her side, ear thumped down on the pillow, unbuttoned shirt twisted around her. “In the Legos,” she complained from sleep.

Mirth curved Regina’s mouth and she chuckled softly, shifted closer. “Of course, I should’ve realised.”

Emma breathed heavily and her body tremored, and Regina placed a gentle hand on her bared thigh, kissed the notches of Emma’s spine between her shoulder blades. “ _Shhhhh_.”

Emma curled into her, backside tucked to Regina’s hips and Regina moved aside the blonde hair that tickled her nose, breasts pressed to Emma’s loose satin shirt and the warmth beneath it.

“’Gina?” Emma sounded confused but more conscious than she had been a moment ago. She took Regina’s hand from her thigh, pulled her arm around her chest. “How’d you get here?”

“This is my bed, dear.” Regina spoke into Emma’s neck. “I should be asking you that.”

“Oh.” Emma stiffened, the cruelly bewildered edge of slumber. “I don’t--”

Regina fought to hide her amusement because after a succession of Emma’s taunts tonight, her moment of uncertainty was a wickedly sweet thing.

“Hey!” Emma’s elbow swung back and she muttered, “You invited me here lady, you want me in your bed.”

Regina smiled broadly, whispered against Emma’s ear, “Yes, I do.”

Emma pressed against her, a deeply concave curve and Regina kissed her shoulder, nuzzled the line of Emma’s neck. Emma’s head tilted for better access, a soft sigh and she untangled their fingers, cupped Regina’s hand to her breast.

Regina chuckled lowly against Emma’s skin. “You were sleeping...”

“Not anymore,” Emma murmured, a smile in her voice.

Regina shook her head lightly, pursed lips and an arched brow. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

“Perhaps…” Regina kissed Emma’s nape, the delicate ridge of her skull. “Perhaps I simply love you, and I have to put up with the rest.”

Emma shifted slightly, scratched the back of her neck where Regina’s lips had been, and Regina’s brow creased until Emma shrugged against her. “Same thing,” Emma smirked. She turned in the arc of Regina’s arm, hair the tail of a comet on dark blue linen. Her satin shirt fell open. “Either way you’re stuck here.”

“Yes, it would seem that I am.” Regina’s fingertips traced delicately between Emma’s breasts, and she pressed her lips to the bridge of Emma’s nose, to her fluttered eyelashes and the hinted hollow of her cheek. Regina brushed lightly the bones of Emma’s face, the silk of her lips; Emma’s tongue darted to taste her fingers and dark approval rumbled from Regina’s throat.

Emma was a pale strip of moonlight bracketed by pewter, but when Regina slid over her, she felt the sunlight still warm in Emma’s skin. Emma’s crooked knee pressed against the outside of Regina’s thigh and she tangled her feet with Emma’s legs, careful not arch her hips though her body ached for rain. She would build Emma’s wetness like a storm. They would lose themselves in it.

Regina’s mouth was reverent, whispered prayers on Emma’s dimpled chin, her jaw, the muscle and tendon that led to the cartilage curl of her ear - she traced the whorls and dips of it with her tongue. The flickered movement, her warm breath earned Emma’s shuddered gasp and Regina’s hands ghosted Emma’s sides, the places she knew tickled and the ones that made Emma groan.

Lightly, she bit Emma’s earlobe. Regina whispered in, “I love you.” She kissed loose strands of Emma’s hair, repeated it against the blonde’s slightly parted lips. “I love you, Emma Swan.”

Emma stiffened. Suddenly Emma’s arms were too tight around her, Regina crushed to the slender shivered length of her and Regina braced herself against the mattress, stunned by Emma’s sobbed: “ _Regina…_ ”

Her name broke in the air, on Emma’s shattered tongue, at the place where ocean spray spattered her hair. Regina pressed her mouth to Emma’s collarbone, to her disparate pulse. “What is it, darling?”

“Don’t call me that.” Emma shook her head against it, almost pushed Regina away yet Emma’s arms never let her go. “I mean—shit. I don’t, I mean I’m not really—” Emma exhaled, ire and frustration in one moist breath. “I don’t really know how to do this Regina, I don’t—I don’t know how to be this, how to be…” Emma trailed off.

But it was a complete sentence.

Emma tensed, shook, and the vein in Regina’s forehead tightened, a prickled wetness to her eyes because she too had teetered on the brutal brink of this all day, all week - her entire life.

Regina had no idea how to _be_ either.

She did not know to be this person, how to be happy, how to be so in love that everything became fragile-splintered-new.

She wanted to.

When Emma said three little words to her in her kitchen, something in Regina had broken. It was not a bad break – clean, necessary. The pieces sheared away she knew she no longer needed and she would learn to survive without them. After a lifetime of fractured; of loss and blame and not being chosen, hearing those words out loud made Regina think she could be something more. The saying of the words mattered.

In this, they were different.

It was the _showing_ that shattered Emma. Emma was undone by a touch that was delicate, fragile; she came apart now as Regina proved with her body that her words were not a lie. Saying ‘I Love You’ was not an end in itself. They both needed to learn how to _be_ in love.

Regina breathed onto Emma’s clavicle, onto the distended veins in her reddened throat. She stroked the taut muscles along Emma’s ribs with her thumbs. Regina held Emma like she meant every word because she did -- Emma meant _everything_ to her. She had no interest anymore in holding back. It was time Emma understood that. “I’m not asking anything extra of you, Emma _._ I know this is hard; I’m not really sure how to do this either--”

“Great,” Emma sniffed. “That’s fucking great Regina, very helpful.”

Regina’s mouth thinned, she stared skyward through a thick cloak of hair.

“So what, we just… figure this out together or whatever?” Emma snapped with distaste -- realised what she’d said and sank into stony silence.

Regina hid her smirk on Emma’s skin. “Sounds _terrible_ , doesn’t it?”

“Shut up Regina.”

Regina chuckled quietly. She pushed up onto her elbows, chin propped on the backs of her hands. Bared hip to hip, belly to belly, Emma’s arms still firmly around her, she said, “Emma, I love _everything_ about you.”

Emma’s eyes were on the bedhead behind her, on the window, on anywhere but Regina and Regina frowned, kissed her upturned jaw. “I love you, Emma.”

Moonlight caught Emma’s streaked tears. It was not easy this letting go, this remaking, this _becoming_ again. Regina thumbed Emma’s chin, the shallow bow of her lips. She tasted the cartilage of Emma’s throat that jolted when Emma swallowed.

Emma tugged Regina up suddenly, kissed her roughly – Emma tasted of salt and desperation, of peppermint toothpaste and desolate need.

 _I will not let her do this_.

Regina purposefully slowed the movement of her lips to the lightest touch, stroked Emma’s hair; pulled away and kissed the corner of Emma’s mouth, her wet cheek, her ear. “Emma, I love you.”

Emma turned her face and Regina’s lips wrote gentle punctuation marks to her words along the tendons of Emma’s neck, across her shoulder, to the bunched bicep of Emma’s arm clutched hopelessly to her.

Regina laced their fingers together, kissed Emma’s knuckles; knelt high over Emma’s hips and she cupped Emma’s hand against her cheek, leant into it. “I love all of you Emma. I am taking everything. You will simply have to accept that.”

She kissed Emma’s wrist; caught the blonde’s eyes and held them, wide and welled - a churned sea and the woman awash in it. Regina waited for her.

Regina waited a long, throat-dried time.

Emma’s eyes slid to the ceiling. “I don’t do this.”

It floated darkly in the moon-rivered low-light of the room.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just… Fuck, I don’t know…” Emma looked at Regina, hesitant fingers moved on her jaw, thumb stroked Regina’s cheekbone over and over like braille. “I used to keep it separate because otherwise it gets messy and I don’t like messy, I don’t like—” Emma’s cheeks puffed against uncomfortable words, released as air.

Regina quirked an eyebrow, drawled, “I think it’s a bit late to avoid _messy_.”

“I know that.” Emma shook her head against the pillow. “And I’m actually happy about it, I don’t know why I’m freaking out I just… I just _love_ you Regina, y’know? Way more than I can deal with, because I don’t know how to do this, how to be… whatever this is, I just don’t. I don’t think I am even capable of it.”

It was said like an insurmountable fault, like this syzygy of heart and body that tore at Emma should be castigated - would be, had been before.

Like this was where Regina left her.

Regina hung her head against it, midnight disbelief; communion crept into her smile. She dropped her hands to the rise and fall of Emma’s chest.

_You beautiful idiot._

Emma seemed not to realise that it was too late for leaving, too late to claim that her body was simply a place to be clambered across, mined for the purposes of fucking. Maybe it was true in the beginning, maybe it was true of Emma’s past but Regina had dug pleasurably into her until somehow, she found Emma’s heart. Emma could be stunned, she could be overwhelmed and fragile and Regina would be infinitely patient about that, but denial was not an option.

Regina understood, because she had been broken down in Emma’s hands over and over this week. It was like Emma had rebuilt her body, a body Regina never really perceived as anything but a place to be buried in or a thing to be wielded as a weapon. It was not always a comfortable process - but in Emma’s hands, Regina came alive.

She stroked the cornered-animal wariness at Emma’s cheek. “You are very capable, Emma. But we don’t have to _do_ anything, not tonight.” Regina slid her angled hip to the mattress, stretched out along Emma’s side. “We can simply sleep. It’s not like we don’t have time.”

_We have forever._

The option hung in silence. Regina sensed Emma’s confused stare; her dark head tucked against Emma’s shoulder, eyelids calmly closed.

“You still want me to stay?”

“Always,” Regina murmured. It was a heart-jerk reaction that she did not regret. “I’d prefer if you didn’t kick me in your sleep, but it’s not necessarily a dealbreaker. I suppose I could always tie your legs to the bed.”

Emma’s perplexed silence continued as Regina Mills snuggled further into the crook of her arm. Her wrist brushed Regina’s hair as she wiped her eyes roughly, salt and disbelief. “We’re… we’re just gonna sleep…?”

“Would you rather talk? It’s a bit late for outdoor sports.”

“No, I mean… you’re naked.”

Regina nodded against Emma’s shoulder. “Yes – that’s been known to happen.”

“Wh-- why would I wanna sleep when you’re naked?”

_Infuriating. Impossible. Absolutely inexplicable…_

One hot-cocoa eye opened slowly after the other, and Regina said wryly, “It will be a very long, very tiring life if I can’t be innocently naked around you, Emma.”

“What’s your point?” Emma’s fingers cautiously ghosted Regina’s hip, the leg draped over her thigh. “I wouldn’t really call this innocent.”

“Someone was wearing my pyjamas.”

Emma scoffed; Regina forced to hold on as she struggled her shoulders from grey satin, crashed back down on the bed. “Better?” Emma added drily, “You own the entire Victoria’s Secret sleepwear catalogue here lady, so don’t even try.”

Regina shook her head against Emma’s bared shoulder. Her lips curved despite herself, white teeth pressed gently to Emma’s soft skin -- The woman was an indecipherable spark. “Are you complaining about my clothing choices, Miss Swan?”

“Nope - just saying I like this outfit better.” Emma’s hand slid carefully into Regina’s crooked knee and pulled her thigh further across her hips.

Despite all that had happened, Regina was wet with her. Emma groaned quietly, pressed closer. “Regina…” Her nails trailed loosely over Regina’s thigh, a slow ascent to violin curves and Emma concentrated on that, on the movement of her own hand. “Regina I may not have any idea what I’m doing here, maybe I’ll learn, maybe I won’t maybe-- I don’t know, but when you touch me I just-- God, don’t ever stop touching me…”

A convulsed beat beneath Regina’s palm - Emma’s strangely resilient yet gun-shy heart, and Regina traced Emma’s sternum with her fingertips, mouth pressed to the outer swell of Emma’s breast. Emma curved into her, a hitched breath in swelled ribs.

Regina wasn’t entirely sure what to do. She wanted Emma in ways she never had before, a soul-deep ache somehow more indecent than the carelessly rutted positions they’d been in. She wanted to bury herself in parts of Emma no one had ever touched. Her heart burnt with it.

“I wanted to make love to you, Emma,” Regina whispered quietly against her chest. “But I’m not sure that’s something you can handle.”

Emma shivered into the unintended challenge of Regina’s voice. “You started something here Regina. And it’s not something I’m used to but I wanna finish it, I fucking-- I want that.” She breathed against Regina’s hair, “Regina, I love you.”

Regina blinked against the light that suddenly glittered on Emma’s skin. It was probably tears, but it looked so much like magic.

Emma’s fingers curled into Regina’s thick hair and she pulled her up slowly; kissed her in a question mark, the language foreign on her tongue. Emma kneaded Regina’s skull, fingertips trailed down Regina’s throat, across hollows and bones to her shoulder where they danced in patterns. Murmured pleasure slid from Regina’s throat. She kissed Emma deeper, languid and slow; stroked promises in Emma’s mouth with her tongue and Emma whimpered, dragged Regina’s hand to her breast and arched into it; begged, “ _Please…_ ”

Regina shuddered against her, struggled for control while her thumb teased Emma’s nipple. “I want you Emma,” she said against her cheek. “I want all of you. If we’re going to do this, I want you to know that I love you, and there is no going back from this.”

Emma touched Regina’s lip, the words that clung to her full red mouth. Emma tasted them with her tongue, found them sweet. Emma pushed in for more.

Regina billowed over her like a sheet, silk on Emma’s smooth skin, a heat that enveloped. Emma’s low-creaked encouragement italicised as she pushed harder into Regina’s palm and Regina mouthed her jaw, tongued trailed down Emma’s throat to the bones and muscle of her chest, teeth scraped gently along the valley of Emma’s breasts. Emma moaned when Regina’s thigh slid between hers to the mattress, hand tangled in the midnight lash of Regina’s hair.

Regina tilted her head then, eyes a strict warning. “Henry is just down that hall, so you will need to be _quiet_.”

“You don’t have a spell--?” Emma’s question strangled short as Regina drew one nipple into her magnificent mouth, swirled it with her tongue; a rasped “ _Fuck,_ ” from Emma’s stone-ground larynx. “I don’t do quiet Regina - neither do you.”

“I can be perfectly quiet,” Regina countered archly. She rolled Emma’s hard flesh loosely between her teeth, smiled sinfully at Emma’s hitched whimper. “If you’re going to be spending more time here, it’s something you’ll have to learn.”  

Emma clawed Regina’s shoulder, partly at her words and partly because Regina pulled her nipple in again, all suction and pressure and her royal tongue and Emma couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t move except into her. Regina’s fingers traced lightly Emma’s other breast, contrasted the press of lips and teeth and Emma moaned raggedly, body contorted, delicious confusion.

Regina breathed heavily into a hissed warning, “I’m very serious, Emma.” She dragged Emma’s hand from her shoulder, pressed it pointedly against the blonde’s mouth. “Quietly, or this _will_ stop.”

Emma glared at her, jet-black pupils ringed by rough-cut jade. Regina arched an eyebrow - but the challenge fled and instead she whispered, “ _Please…_ ”; kissed the soft weight of Emma’s breast, painted sensitive skin with her pink tongue, mouthed it promisingly and Emma pushed one bent knuckle between her teeth, bit down, her head dropped silently back against the pillow.

Regina rewarded her lavishly, loved Emma’s breasts with all the wet-hard-soft that turned the blonde’s body to fire. Her fingers were feathered strokes on Emma’s ribs, her arm, over the fine hairs that raised gooseflesh on shivered skin and Emma reeled between the electric shock of enamel and this softly whispered caress.

Regina missed Emma’s mouth like home. She rose like the hull of a boat, nudged away Emma’s hand and kissed her as though years had passed, as though every moment could be recaptured from Emma’s tongue and Emma’s arms wrapped tightly around her, held her firmly in place, clutched her like there was nothing more in the world but this.

It was the push and slide of bodies then, the arc and curve, hip to belly and tangled feet. Regina cupped Emma’s face with both hands, loved her lips, drank every muted moan and rumbled murmur of need from Emma’s tongue when Emma pushed desperately against her thigh. Regina moved lazily, teased and rolled and pulled away again, and Emma’s fingers dug into Regina’s back, her hip - grumbled frustration. Regina laughed like burbled water into Emma’s mouth, kissed her chin and her falciform throat; began a descent.

Regina’s breasts ached for attention as they slid across the peaks and troughs of Emma, a delicious friction -- She took it out on Emma’s nipple as she passed, the curved underside of her breast, all softly scraped teeth and an almost silent, gravelled moan. Her hair dragged in inky lines over Emma’s parchment skin, rich and indelible. Regina tongued each band of Emma’s ribs, outlined the shuddered muscle of her stomach, her navel and jutted hipbones, nails scraped loosely from Emma’s knees to her jolted thighs and her name fluttered like a tattered flag in Emma’s mouth.

Lips lowered to the soft skin of Emma’s inner thigh, Regina nuzzled and kissed and bared her teeth just enough that Emma’s nerves buzzed against them. Her tongue lathed in a long, wet line to the oversensitive juncture of Emma’s thigh, and as she inched towards the promised flood of her, Regina knew Emma pulled a pillow to her face because her cry was muffled.

Regina rested her cheek against Emma’s pelvis. She took time just to look at her. Emma’s uneven breaths made her lean body tremulous, all tensed muscles and bent knees and her toes flexed desperately against the comforter -- She was beautiful and sleek and powerful and out of control. Emma’s arousal was heady – it blew Regina’s pupils, flared her nostrils, made her see violet where there was none. Emma pulled at something in Regina, primal but pure. She trailed her fingertips delicately over the pale skin between Emma’s hipbones, over the bowed rise of Emma’s leg - Regina stalled just beyond the glisten that beckoned her.

“Emma?” Regina breathed her name onto her skin and Emma shivered beneath her. “Emma, have I told you how exquisite you are?”

“Couple times,” Emma rasped painfully, a jolted shudder as Regina’s fingers circled closer and looped away again, branded infinity signs on her flesh.

“Did you believe me when I said it?” Regina’s voice now an almost distracted murmur, tongue drawn slowly across her plump lower lip.

“Sure, I—” Emma clenched her teeth, bit her tongue, a strangled moan as Regina’s index finger traced along the soaked line of her, too lightly to be anything more than a torment. “ _Reginaplease.”_

“It was about more than your skin, Emma.” Regina parted Emma with her fingers and thumb, revealed the slick-wet-touch-me sheen of her and her throat dried though her mouth watered. Regina husked, “I meant that I loved you, long before I knew how to say it.”

Regina ran her fingers through liquid velvet, the viscous shuddered invitation of Emma’s body. “I might have always loved you, Emma.”

Regina lowered her mouth and didn’t need words anymore.

Her tongue was a rain of fire, an oasis of relief, a thousand things Emma could not name but for the desperate sound poured through her teeth into Regina’s pillow. Regina tasted her like a connoisseur, like a gourmand, like a last meal that would never end, like the Last Supper with no divine grace. Regina was love in shattered fury, in drowning swells, in the patterns behind Emma’s eyelids painted bronze when she squeezed them shut.

Regina lathed and stroked, rolled and swirled, ravished her. Her generous mouth and needy tongue were desperate for the taste of Emma that she pushed into, tongue deeply inside her, full and thick, flickered and curved, her jaw stretched wide until her lips and nose brushed Emma’s already raw nerves, Emma wound so tightly against her.

Regina dragged the full flat of her tongue to Emma’s clit, over it again and again and all she heard were Emma’s linen-covered cries, the dulled sound that still reverberated in Regina’s chest, urged her closer, deeper, longer. Regina wrote I Love Yous on Emma’s nerves, fingers painted it onto her quaked thighs, voice rumbled it into the hitched ascent of Emma’s body. Emma bowed against her mouth, circumflex on Regina’s masterful lips, mindless fingers tangled in Regina’s hair. When Emma finally came, she came in a pitched, juddered screech of limbs.

With the pillow clenched between Emma’s teeth, Regina missed her name screamed loudly enough that other lands would hear it. She wanted everyone to know she had been here, that she had loved Emma to destruction. Regina kissed the flooded canyon of her, Emma’s river-water thighs, the shock and shudder that lingered on Emma’s hips while the blonde pulled loosely at her shoulder.

“I’m not done.” Regina kissed the roiled shiver of Emma’s belly, left wet trails of Emma behind her like marks on a map to guide her home; kissed her side muscles and the pitched heave of her ribs as Emma gasped for breath, body still fired by Regina’s tongue though she had moved it to Emma’s breasts.

_“Regina…”_

“I’m not done,” Regina repeated on Emma’s chest, on her red-flushed skin, against the pounding beat of Emma’s jugular -- She tasted Emma still, mouth full of her, chin mostly dry but there would be more, there would always be more. Regina kissed Emma’s cheek, Emma’s lips a _welcome back_ , an _I’ve missed you_ and Regina’s name still echoed in her mouth, etched on Emma’s tongue, left tremors as they tangled together. Emma’s hands were firm on the sides of Regina’s face, and Regina never wanted to be anywhere but here, with her.

Palm splayed on the comforter beside Emma’s chest, Regina thumbed Emma’s hip with her other hand, gently but surely reminded her she was still there and she slid into the crook of Emma’s arm, settled against and over her, never broke the smooth glide of mouths. Everything Emma took from her was given back twice over.

Regina dropped her head to Emma’s collarbone, kissed the rise and fall of her breast and Emma held her loosely with one arm, the other dangled in her long hair, a boneless stretch. “Regina…”

Regina kissed her jaw and her fingers traced over Emma’s thigh, skirted closer.

“Regina, I love you.”

Regina’s smile was almost too broad for kissing but she tried anyway, all clacked teeth and ungainliness on Emma’s mouth. Her hand slid between Emma’s thighs and Emma’s surprised moan teetered on her tongue. Regina chuckled against it, ran fingers through the sticky heat of Emma and she jerked at the touch, murmured dissent and approval all at the same time. Regina stroked Emma carefully but pointedly, never relinquished her mouth and when Regina’s fingers circled the wet wellspring, the sweet burn of Emma, the blonde pushed heedlessly into her hand.

Regina’s fingers slid slowly, so slowly in and Regina couldn’t tell if the creaked-pleasure sound was from her throat or Emma’s but it twisted on the breath between them. Two fingers sheathed to the third knuckle, Emma clenched hotly around her and Regina shuddered with it, pulled back and slowly pushed in again. Emma keened into Regina’s mouth, couldn’t kiss her anymore because she didn’t have the bones for it, head dropped helplessly onto the pillow.

Regina thrust slowly, the same inexorable pace and she propped herself comfortably on one elbow, nudged Emma. “Emma, look at me.” When she entered Emma again, Regina curved her fingers, knuckles stretched Emma a little more and Emma gasped for sense, eyes wide but closed again tightly.

“Emma…” Regina murmured it into messy blonde hair, against the ear her tongue trailed along and Emma forgot herself, made a ragged sound from her open mouth and Regina captured it quickly, coaxed Emma’s face to her, never stopped her hand. “Look at me, Emma,” Regina whispered against Emma’s parted lips, against the bewildered expression as she pushed into Emma’s body, gradually faster, a slow-teased acceleration. “Emma, I love you.”

Green eyes focused on her then, a flashed pinpoint of understanding quickly flooded by tears - but there was no sadness in Emma, a strange disbelief, a glimmered wonder. Regina curved deeper, deeper again and Emma cupped Regina’s face, held it reverently. A third finger and Emma’s silent mouth gaped breathlessly, her blown pupils struggled to stay fixed on black-coffee warmth and Regina smiled like the sun, all red-rimmed, white-flashed teeth.

Emma’s eyelids shuttered, dazzled. Regina took pity on her. She whispered _“I love you”_ and caught Emma’s mouth, kissed her - moved her hand in earnest. Emma jolted to life. She was sound and fury on Regina’s tongue, arms wrapped tightly around her neck as Regina thrust into her over and over, fingers bent and curled on creases of soaked satin, through the pull and beg of Emma; knuckles thick and wrist fast, a dedicated drive into the places that ruined the tempo of Emma’s hips, clawed her nails desperately to Regina’s shoulders and in her hair. Regina loved Emma with every effort in her body, every breath drawn from Emma’s lungs, every word of forever painted in her desperate mouth.

Emma stiffened in a bowed arc, jolted and fell apart in Regina’s hands. Regina swallowed the bellowed cry of her and searched for more, searched with her fingers and tongue and the length of her body pressed to Emma, revelled in her shivered skin, the fathomless quake of her. Regina drew out her shaking until Emma collapsed, heavy and wrecked.

When Regina finally pulled away, she swore for a second she saw rainbows on her hands and on her chest, in the sweat of Emma’s skin, in the air that swirled around them - thick and acrid with the crackled scent of ozone and magic.

But that was ridiculous.

Regina kissed Emma’s flushed cheek and the blonde’s lips moved silently. Regina leant closer and heard the endless litany of _I love you_ s on Emma’s breath and she kissed them from her, slow and deep. Emma spilled into tears, a bent-throat sob and Regina curled in beside her, wrapped Emma in sturdy arms and tucked Emma’s head beneath her chin. Regina cried a little too, very quietly, for this moment and for Emma and for all the years she had wasted and for the everything she had now somehow gained. They were both a mess.

But it seemed right somehow.

The salt subsided. A calm crept in, like a summer storm had broken. The house was quiet. Storybrooke slept.

Emma’s fingers trailed idly over Regina’s side, thoughtless patterns that meant only that she was here. Her brow furrowed. “Regina?”

Regina shook her chin against Emma’s head. “Shhhhhh.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Regina, did you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Regina creaked quietly, determined to enjoy her lassitude.

“That thing,” Emma said unhelpfully. She sounded unsure, more than a little reluctant to name it. “At the end there -- did you use magic?”

Regina forced her breath to keep going, forced her limbs not to stiffen around Emma - they had done enough work for one night. She kissed Emma’s hair. “Just my fingers, dear. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Emma scoffed against her throat; Regina chuckled and held Emma tighter. Emma snuggled against her chest and Regina thought a flood of warmth might stop her once-cold-blooded heart but it swelled happily, comfortably inside her ribcage. Apparently there was room after all.

“Regina—”

“ _No._ ”

Emma shouldered her gently; surprised her when she rose in Regina’s arms, mouth pressed to her ear. “Regina I want you…”

Regina shivered at Emma’s gravelled tone, bit her lower lip.

“Regina, I need-- I need to taste you...”

Emma’s voice, her tongue curled liquid fire through Regina’s body - breath hitched, released in a shaken rush. “I thought you’d be tired…”

“Not for that,” Emma rasped. Her teeth scraped lightly on Regina’s earlobe. Regina moaned lowly, fingers gripped to Emma’s waist and Emma pulled at her, rolled until Regina perched over her again. Emma tangled her hands in Regina’s hair, kissed her in promises, in prelude, with passion.

Regina couldn’t help the slow grind of her hips against Emma’s stomach, and when Emma gripped her and pulled Regina slickly against her, it was almost enough to bring Regina undone – she was too close, too wet with Emma already, with the taste and the feel and the citrus-cinnamon scent of her that lingered on Regina’s skin.

She didn’t know quite what was happening as Emma urged her up, hands hooked beneath her thighs - felt herself drawn forward on her knees and went with the momentum because Emma’s body slid slowly between her legs, a kind of friction that was all Regina could think about.

Emma murmured, _“Up_ ” -- coaxed Regina’s knees onto pillows and when Emma’s shoulders were pressed to the backs of Regina’s thighs, Regina understood and lost herself completely. Her hands shook on the headboard, head drooped, spine a melted arch and Regina shut her eyes against it; needed Emma so badly she thought it might kill them both. “Emma, I don’t think I can…”

“Regina, _please._ ” Emma’s breath ghosted Regina’s inner thighs and she shivered painfully; gasped at the press of Emma’s lips, at the fingertips stroked in hypnotic patterns over her ass to the small of her back. “Regina I want you, I _need_ you-- Fuck, I love you so much, I just, I need…”

Regina’s nails dug at the padded wood of the headboard until it creaked; she shuddered with the strain of holding back. _“Emma…_ ”

Strong hands gripped Regina’s hips and she was lost again. She lowered herself to Emma’s face, to her perfect mouth and tongue.

The first touch was fire, the second an inferno – Regina lost count as Emma pushed against her, pressed inside her, everything now simply _Emma_. Regina rode Emma’s mouth, the hard-tight thrust and the smooth-slick writhe, Emma’s hands around her thighs to hold her steady, they drove Regina on and she relied on Emma’s strength, on the solid bedhead to keep her anchored; ground herself against Emma’s tongue, uncontrolled and desperate.

Regina’s thighs shook with the strain, with relentless pleasure and she tangled her free hand in Emma’s hair beneath her, whispered things that grew louder and louder and Regina knew she could not stop herself, knew silence was a lost cause. She released the bedhead with one outflung arm, locked down the room with flared magic and threw her head back - Emma’s name poured from her throat. Regina begged her never to stop, pleaded _harder_ and _right there_ and _more_ ; Emma’s tongue flickered on her clit like lightning, like thunder, in flooded sheets of rain.

Regina’s body tightened and burnt, shoulders and arms, stomach and hips and when Emma’s tongue slid inside her again, curled and then dragged back over her; sucked hard on her clit, muscle rolled and swirled Regina fell from a cliff, stomach lurched and hips jolted and she bucked against Emma’s mouth, came in a bellowed rush.

Emma held her as she came apart; Regina tried to move but Emma was not done, her tongue drawn lazily against the flooded shell of her and Regina sobbed with it, a loose-limbed plea for her to stop even as her body shook and still pushed against her, blatant and crude.

Finally, Emma relented. She helped Regina slide back down over her until she straddled Emma’s hips, and Emma kissed her as she passed, kissed the sweat from Regina’s stomach and ribs, from her breasts and shoulders; tasted the salt of her throat and the honey in her mouth. Against Regina’s slack lips, Emma whispered, “I fucking _love_ you.” She kissed Regina like it would never be enough, like she would always want more – more of _this_ , more of _them_ , more of _her_. 

Regina curled into Emma’s body, arms around her neck, ruined and shaking. She wanted to cry but there was nothing left in her, wanted to laugh but there wasn’t anything particularly funny. Regina just wanted to stay here until time stopped. Her eyes closed and she fought it. When Emma’s head drooped against hers, Regina began to let go.

“You lied to me,” Emma whispered against midnight hair.

Regina stiffened - raised her face and searched Emma’s eyes. She found only wry humour. “What are you talking about?”

“You said there was no spell but you did something Regina, there’s no way Henry wouldn’t hear all of that, you were freakin’ loud.”

Regina smirked; relaxed back onto Emma’s chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I never said there wasn’t a spell, I simply said you should learn to be quiet.”

Emma snorted, and kissed Regina’s head carelessly. “You’re a pain in the ass, Mills. And I was quiet, but I don’t think you can be.”

Regina whispered her dark promise on Emma’s skin: “Oh, I can be...”

“Yeah? Prove it.”

Regina smiled then, because Emma’s dare was undermined by a yawn that could not be stifled. She kissed Emma’s chin, Emma’s arms wrapped tightly around her. “Tomorrow, dear. It’s very late.”

_There will always be tomorrow. So many tomorrows._

Regina curled in and closed her eyes. Emma did too.

They slept.

*****

**Please comment if you have the time - I love it. And I'd really like to know what you're still hoping for in these last few chapters.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Last night was an old song covered for a new film, played in Emma’s head. It was overworked muscles and flagrant sweat in the honeyed mouth of Etta James, made into At Last!, made into always, made into the strangely stupid notion that Emma had waited for this her entire life. Her heart swayed slowly in place, occasionally tripped against her ribcage when Regina shuddered in her sleep._
> 
>  _'Took your sweet-ass time to get here, Swan. But look at you now...'_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi peeps. It's been too many months I know, but life and stuff and crappy things and -- here we are again :) I'm sorry this took so long. Thanks for sticking around in the silence. I hope this extended chapter was worth the wait.

**How Hard Can You [Love] Me?**

by

SyrenSoul_Red

*****

 

_**38\. [ (Like this) ]** _

Emma didn’t know why she had woken. It was too damned early. The bedroom air was chilly; dim light filtered through Regina’s curtains, painted the walls a concrete grey and she shut her bleary eyes against it.

_Nope. Hell no._

Regina was a curled bracket of warmth beside her and Emma burrowed further into the blankets, into tangled limbs and soft skin. She pushed her cold nose to Regina’s spine and the brunette grumbled, gripped Emma’s hand reflexively in sleep. Emma smiled on Regina’s shoulderblade, pressed her lips against it.

_Sunday sleep-ins and Regina Mills._

_This is the fucking life._

Last night was an old song covered for a new film, played in Emma’s head. It was overworked muscles and flagrant sweat in the honeyed mouth of Etta James, made into _At Last!_ , made into _always_ , made into the strangely stupid notion that Emma had waited for this her entire life. Her heart swayed slowly in place, occasionally tripped against her ribcage when Regina shuddered in her sleep.

_Took your sweet-ass time to get here, Swan._

_But look at you now..._

Emma never thought she could be this person. She’d tried, but the love came out hollow, the rough outline of feelings shouted across a chasm, a disconnected wire between what she’d said and what she really believed. Emma knew that was her fault. She’d kept herself at a distance so she had the advantage when she ran. No one ever stood a chance with her sprint-pistol heart.

Until now.

Emma was in love here, and there was nothing she could do about it. That was fine. It had taken her nearly three decades, but she finally got that love was a feeling you had because you couldn’t not-feel it. It was a heedless compulsion, a habit picked up long before you realised; it was falling asleep next to Regina and waking with the woman still in her arms. And maybe this was quite a new thing, but already it felt right, like it should’ve happened a long time ago.

_There’s no going back from this._

Last night, something changed for Emma. She wasn’t really sure what, only that it was different. _She_ was different. The comforting weight in her arms, this barely-contained presence - Regina Mills was a feeling she’d never had before. _Permanent._ Emma knew she was done running. She’d hung up her shoes in this home, rested her weary legs. Her fight-or-flight days were over.

Forever could begin.

_Guess I finally found Tallahassee._

_Slightly to the left of normal._

_In the arms of a former Evil Queen._

Emma chuckled at herself, held Regina a little tighter. Dark hair fell in kinked waves that tickled Emma’s cheek, and there would always be something new about this woman for Emma to learn. She rubbed the itch against Regina’s shoulder, sank slowly into her soft breathing.

Emma’s stomach growled but she ignored it - breakfast would come soon enough, and Henry; then her parents and the trainwreck of the afternoon. She imagined tight conversations and awkward silences, hair-pulling and actual explosions – but in the end, she couldn’t stop seeing picture-perfect postcards and matching sweaters, the whole disgusting fairytale shebang: Happy life, happy family; Happy Ending. A Swan-Mills-Charming blended situation would work, because they’d make it. After that, the rest of the town would be a cakewalk.

_Princess Swan and Queen Mills invite you to witness their unlikely coupling._

_Heavy drinking and jail cells provided._

This thing had never been easy, but absolutely it had been worth it. Emma curved her knees against Regina’s thighs and stroked her skin. Beneath her hand, Regina’s chest felt warm, almost hot to the touch. At the breach of dreams, Emma couldn’t understand why she’d ever fought this. It was the kind of serene that was still spectacular. She was safe here.

Emma slipped back into sleep.

*

_Regina was crushed in a tangled mass of vines and thorns, trapped -- every time she moved they tore at her flesh, bit into the bones over her heart._

It was a position she’d been in before, spent her youth tied this way but this was different. There was no Cora here, banished to the dank hallways of her past, a blackened abyss she no longer fell into. Regina didn’t know what this was, only that it hurt.

She struggled against it and the pain became unbearable, a skin-flayed rawness as it drove the spikes deeper but she knew that she needed to escape this if she ever wanted to live.

She wanted that.

Somewhere far from here, far from these Curse-infested veins was a Princess, a White Knight, a Savior who had already claimed this heart -- it couldn’t be stolen any more. Regina would not let it be taken by force.

 _The trees twisted tighter._ Fire burnt in Regina’s chest, a white-hot filament shunted through her skin; it blinded her, scorched this stretch of forsaken forest. A wretched sound wrenched from her throat; pitiful gasped agony-- Regina’s heart stopped.

She hung there, limply.

Wind sputtered through the stillness of pines, ruffled dark hair. Regina never felt it.

She felt nothing anymore.

*

Regina bolted awake, sweat-drenched and skin-too-tight; she was a swung fist against the bedsheets, pistoned lungs thunderous like a freight train, all warped metal and screeching. Her ribs burnt as the fire from her nightmare licked into the real world.

Emma jolted up a moment later, legs and arms flailed -- A second passed and she spoke soft words against Regina’s hair, worried sounds. Regina felt it, felt the movement of Emma’s breath and it comforted her. She collapsed back into careful arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and while there was no sense to be made from Emma’s words, at least Regina felt no thorns in her skin, and she needed to be held like this.

_What just happened?_

Regina quaked like a fever, shivered at the icy air and Emma’s snow-flurry skin. Her chest burnt around her hot-coal heart yet it beat loudly now, pounded a rough but reassuring rhythm in her firestorm breast and Regina clutched to it, palm pressed against her sternum. Her other fingers gripped Emma’s wrist because she anchored her there.

“Regina? Hey, are you with me?”

Regina thought that she was. She nodded once, cleared her throat; downplayed the moment because she wasn’t really sure what had happened. “It’s fine. Just a bad dream.”

“…Ok...” Emma rubbed her thumb on Regina’s stomach, pressed her lips to her shoulder and it was abnormally warm. “Are you feeling ok? Because you’re really hot.”

Regina scoffed, but never got more than halfway into the taunt because her chest ached, and Emma sounded serious. She leant back into her instead, ignored the pain and stroked Emma’s long fingers splayed on her skin. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said quietly. “That hasn’t happened to me in a long time.”

Emma smiled, small and rueful; kissed Regina’s neck where her hair fell. “Hey, I’m glad you went first. Usually it’s me.”

Regina said nothing. She laced her fingers with Emma’s on her belly and stared at them. Emma’s clear nail polish was chipped, caught the light in abstract angles, her French manicure long gone. Regina’s own nails were in desperate need of something -- after her latest stint as the Evil Queen she’d bitten at them in her spare moments, taken out the claw from them, and now they were ragged. Regina wasn’t sure why that mattered to her right now, but it was a distraction.

There was something wrong beneath her ribs, an ache that itched and burnt as it grew and she shifted her spine more completely into Emma’s breasts, pulled Emma’s long leg over her thighs with her free hand. She felt safe then. “I think… In the dream – I think I died.”

Emma tightened around her, serpentine limbs, the protective flex of _I have you now_ and _Just let anyone try that…_ She kissed Regina’s jawbone, arms so tight that Regina should’ve felt trapped but didn’t, protected by Emma’s lanky body. “You know I’m not gonna let anything happen to you right?” Emma breathed against Regina’s ear, rubbed her cheek on wild hair. “I know you’re absolutely capable of looking after yourself, but I’m still not gonna let it happen, ok? Whatever it was, it’s not here now.”

Regina knew that wasn’t true because she still felt it, the tightness in her flame chest - but she nodded against Emma’s lips anyway. “I need a shower.”

“You wanna get up?” Emma pouted then, planted her chin in the crook of Regina’s shoulder. “I don’t really like that idea. Let’s stay in bed.”

Regina smirked to herself, tucked her head back against Emma’s collarbone. “We have things to do today, and Henry will come looking for us soon enough.”

“It’s barely light out,” Emma complained. “Kid won’t be up for hours. And I think somebody locked down this room last night...”

Regina chuckled lowly as Emma snaked her other leg over her bare thighs, twined herself around Regina’s body. Regina remarked dryly, “Dawn came some time ago, Emma. I’m not having Henry find us this way.”

Emma’s hand slipped low on Regina’s belly, danced lightly around her hipbones. “Dawn is for birds Regina - you don’t even like birds. Stay here with me.”

Regina wanted that, wanted nothing more than to pull her blankets up over their heads and pretend they had nothing else to do today except this. But that wasn’t the case. And Regina needed time to control herself, to soothe the pain in her febrile ribs, to wash away the fine layer of sex and sweat that coated her skin. She sniffed indignantly. “Well, if you hadn’t already told Mary Margaret what we were doing, perhaps that would be an option.”

Emma stilled her fingers, but she nuzzled the place where Regina’s cheek met her ear and growled, “Hey it’s not my fault I was falling in love with you. That’s on you, lady. I needed to talk to someone.”

“Is that right? I think your choice in confidantes was poor.” Regina smiled as Emma _hmphed_ against her hair, briefly dazzled the dim room with her teeth. “I suppose I could overlook it this time.”

Emma bit Regina’s soft neck and she jerked away, laughter pulled from her waterfall throat.

Emma grinned at that, chuckled when Regina’s shoulders pushed back against her breasts, arms crossed haughtily as though she was anything but ridiculously happy. Emma’s hand drifted to Regina’s inner thigh, her short nails shivered patterns into Regina’s skin. “I really am in love with you, y’know. You’ve got my dumbass for good, so you should probably get used to me doing stupid things. It’s kind of my deal.”

Regina rolled her eyes, but the long-term sentiment filled her body with a kind of stretched-wing joy, the ease of a bird in an updraft and it almost cooled her burning chest. “Yes, I suppose I will.”

Emma grinned on Regina’s cheekbone, kissed the lines beside her broad mouth; ran her fingers delicately between Regina’s thighs. Regina bit her lip against the groan that slipped into her throat-- Her heart was still pyretic and it hurt, but when Emma was around it seemed her body was always on fire. She turned her head and kissed Emma, the angle awkward for both of them but they made it work.

Emma’s tongue teased Regina’s lips while her hand moved lazily, more of a re-acquaintance than any concerted effort and Regina shivered in the perfect circle of her arms. She gripped Emma’s wrist and pressed it more firmly into wetness, deeper; and Emma whimpered into her mouth, kissed her with slow-burn desperation. Regina rode Emma’s hand with the slow-rise quake of her body, panted shallowly into her lax mouth, rolled her hips purposefully against her.

A hidden smile crinkled the corner of Regina’s eye as she pulled Emma’s fingers from her body, dragged them up over her skin, drew them into her mouth. She tasted herself on Emma’s digits with a lavish tongue, swirled and sucked the stickiness from her hand and Emma swore under her breath, pupils blown to a ringed bottle-green. Emma tremored and Regina smiled, broad and curved, spoke against her fingertips, “Good morning, dear.”

“I—” Emma squeaked like her throat had collapsed, because Regina had broken her. “I don’t even know--”

Regina chuckled lowly, the raw-strung garrotte of her heart eased slightly by the moment. She kissed Emma’s addled lips, tucked dishevelled blonde behind her ear. “It’s time to get up.”

Emma shook her head, mouth gaped and eyes blinked like -- _what just happened?_ “I think we should stay here,” she blurted out. “We can tell my parents we already had lunch and they forgot about it. You can just… magic a missing day or something.”

Regina smiled and threw back the sheets, slid her overheated skin to the edge of the bed. “I’m having a shower. I suggest you do the same. We smell like a pair of harlots.”

“Harlots?” Emma muttered. “Exactly how old are you?”

Regina raised an unimpressed eyebrow, a flashed glare as she rose from the bed like a warning. She folded her arms over majestically raised breasts. “Is that really something you want to ask me, _Miss Swan_?”

Emma shook her head curtly, lips pursed. “Nope, not asking that. Never even crossed my mind.”

“Good. You can have the second shower. See if you can find yourself some clothes.”

Emma frowned at Regina’s back as the woman retreated, gathered up her towel. “What, no invite?”

Regina shook her head, hand against the open ensuite door. “I hardly think you can be trusted,” she said, and disappeared inside.

Emma pouted, all scrunched face and folded arms. She was on her feet a second later, stalked into the bathroom. “I can be trusted,” she grumbled.

Regina was a DaVinci-drawn sketch against the pale tiles of her shower, angled over the taps and it made an immediate liar of Emma. She reached out and ran her fingers across Regina’s stretched shoulders, down the pulled muscle beside her spine, over the obscene curve of Regina’s ass -- Emma stepped into her, breasts pressed to her back; mouthed the jutted bone at the base of Regina’s skull. “What if I just washed your hair?” she mumbled.

Regina shook her head, mouth an exasperated curve but she leant back into the blonde. Emma certainly couldn’t be trusted, but a part of Regina still wasn’t ready to be alone. She sighed. “This has to be all work, no play, Emma…”

Emma nodded against her skin, and they both knew it was another lie. Regina turned the taps anyway.

“We can’t stay in here forever.”

Emma shrugged, a cocky smile. “We can get clean before we get dirty.”

“That is not the point--”

“Don’t care.”

Emma crashed into Regina, a wet stormfront of need and Regina was glad she’d shampooed her hair last night. There would be no productivity in this shower, no water conservation, only the fumbled-falling-together laughter of too-slippery sex, awkward and unstable and _right there_ and _Don’t stop_ …

The last of Regina’s pain washed away in Emma’s perfect hands.

It was a very good start to the morning.

*

Emma pressed a towel to the wet ends of her long hair as she padded down the staircase. She wasn’t done getting ready yet, but Regina had banned her from the bedroom the second time she slipped behind her and slowly unzippered her tight grey dress. It wasn’t Emma’s fault the woman looked so damned good with her hair slicked back and one earing held to her jaw. She was built for harassment, and Emma couldn’t be blamed for that.

Regina disagreed.

Emma left her towel on the newel and pulled her damp hair into a messy ponytail. As she crossed the landing to the kitchen, she heard the buzz of a tinny radio inside; took a moment to roughly button Regina’s borrowed black dress-shirt over her bra and smoothed the tight jeans Regina had begged her to iron but she’d refused -- _Who irons jeans?_ Emma pushed through the hinged wooden door.

Henry was hunched over a comic book at the kitchen counter, still in his pyjamas, with a cream-coned Chewbacca mug and a plate of thick-cut orange wedges at his elbow. _Wolf 98_ played classic rock in the background, and Emma kissed his head, ruffled his hair. “Morning kid.”

“There’s coffee.”

Emma grinned; stole a hunk of fruit on her way to the machine. Stainless steel jugs of aromatic blackness and freshly frothed milk waited for her, and Emma filled a mug, leant back with her eyes slitted over steam. “I like your moves, kid.”

Henry smiled into his cocoa and kept reading.

Emma relaxed there, enjoyed the sunlight that streamed through the window over the sink, and Janis Joplin urged her to _Get It While You Can_ \-- Emma agreed, but no longer in a fleeting way. She smiled against her mug.

“I can see your bra,” Henry mentioned, and ate an orange wedge.

“Yeah, that happens -- Hey, have you thought about coming with us to lunch today?”

Henry turned a page, shrugged. “Yeah of course. Why wouldn’t I be there?”

“I dunno.” Emma’s mouth scrunched against the rim. “I probably wouldn’t if I had the choice.”

Henry raised his head, stared at her. “But you don’t have a choice. We have a lot invested in this. We all have to be there.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Quit bein’ so grown up, kid.”

Henry stared at her a moment longer then went back to his comic book.

Emma drank her coffee deeply, listened as Storybrooke’s ‘shock’ jocks complained about potholes. She wished life was as easy as small towns pretended it to be. Today, two families needed to fit together in a space where they'd barely tolerated each other before, boundaries set down years ago smoothed away like lines in the sand - it was more complicated than that. But it would happen. Emma couldn’t just leave one family behind. She wanted both.

_We’re so damned close to having everything..._

Emma pushed herself from the bench and wandered over to her son, slipped in beside him at the kitchen counter. One bare foot pressed to the chrome leg of Henry’s stool, Emma peered across his shoulder, tried to make out what he was reading. She needed new contact lenses really, but wasn’t prepared to use her aquarium-thick glasses in the interim -- Maybe in a few months when the real comfortable crept in, when Regina spent more time in yoga pants and Emma was too ingrained in their lives to be kicked out anymore. Until then, she’d settle for large print.

“You’re hovering,” Henry muttered.

“You’re boring,” Emma shot back. “There are no magazines in this house.”

“Nope.” Henry’s brow furrowed. “Where’s Mom?”

“The Middle East.” Emma sipped her coffee and swiped another orange wedge. “She said something about solving a peace crisis before breakfast.”

“Cool.”

Henry flipped another multi-coloured page, and Emma held her mug with both hands, stared aimlessly through the window into Regina’s sun-drenched garden. She missed her, missed this vibrant woman and it was ridiculous because she’d been with her just minutes ago, but Emma didn’t care anymore. She was happy with ridiculous. It was so much better than hollow.

Of course, some things could not be filled just by thoughts of Regina. Emma’s stomach growled, complained that coffee was not a complete breakfast and she nabbed another orange wedge from Henry’s plate.

“Did Mom sleep in?” he asked, and sipped his cocoa.

“Not really - not enough.”

“Oh.” Henry wiped chocolate powder from his cheek. “You guys were quiet this morning.”

Emma eyed the side of his face. “Whaddid you expect? Were you hanging around the door or something?”

“No.”

“You creep.”

Henry scowled at her. “I wasn’t!”

“You shouldn’t lurk, kid.” Emma smirked against her mug. “You might not like what you hear.”

Henry thunked Chewbacca heavily on the marble counter and it startled her. “I knocked when I got up, _ok_? But I didn’t stick around because you guys didn’t answer!” Henry erupted then -- “I don’t wanna know if you weren’t  _sleeping_ _!_ _I don’t want to know that!_ ”

He threw himself back in his chair, arms crossed over his superhero pyjamas and Emma’s mouth stuttered around sound. “Hey, kid, I’m sorry…”

She’d been joking, hadn’t meant to imply-- Or maybe she had but she shouldn’t’ve. Henry was still a kid,  _their_  kid and there were lines. Emma hadn't figured out where they all were yet, but clearly she'd crossed one.

“Henry…” She turned to the churlish slump of him. “I’m sorry ok? I didn’t mean-- Your Mom and I didn’t hear you knocking or we would’ve answered.” Emma tugged the end of her knotted ponytail across her shoulder, exhaled roughly. “We were just talking; your Mom-- She had a nightmare, ok? So yeah we were probably awake, she just-- We needed a minute.”

It was enough truth that only the pertinent parts registered. Tension seeped from Henry’s shoulders; stayed in his spine, a different rigidity. “Was it…” Hazel eyes flickered peripherally at Emma. “Was it a bad one?”

“It wasn’t great...” Emma searched his set jaw, the worried creases of his face. She reached for her coffee with a feigned nonchalance. “Does it happen a lot?”

“Used to.” Henry shrugged, wary. “Not as much anymore.”

Emma nodded into her cup. “Well she seems okay. I think she just wanted a little space.”

“Yeah.” Henry slipped forward again, arms against the counter. “She usually says it’s okay.” He picked up his spoon. “It bothers her though. I think she always remembers what happened.”

“So, we make her forget...” Emma shot him a small smile. She buffeted against his shoulder. “Sorry I called you a creep.”

“Good. And, it’s okay.” He scooped more whipped cream into his mouth. “We should probably get ready now.”

Emma shook her head, mug held to her lips. “I don’t think your Mom’ll mind if we just hang out here for a little while.”

“Nope, it’s important.” Henry dropped the spoon into his half-finished cocoa and closed his comic book. “Sunday Specials, remember?” He grinned then. “We gotta get ready.”

“Still think she’s up for it, kid?” Emma frowned as Henry pushed his stool away from the counter. “What’re we talking about anyway? What’s so special about this thing?”

“ _Waffles._ ”

The word was magic in Henry’s mouth, and Emma perked up immediately. “Regina makes waffles?”

“From scratch. _Loads_ of them. Then we sit around and she lets me eat in my pyjamas ‘til we’re full -- trust me, this’ll help. Cooking takes Mom’s mind off of things.”

Emma mostly believed him, didn’t want to argue anyway because _waffles_. She murmured, “God I love this family.”

“Yep. Happens every Sunday– every Sunday I’m around, anyway.” Henry paused with his hand on a high cupboard door. “…Which could be a lot more now?”

“Well I was looking for reasons to stay...”

Henry turned on her - immediately lost his seriousness at Emma’s goofy expression. He rolled his eyes. “Like you even needed more reasons. You’re in love with my Mom.”

“Yup.” Emma threw her bare feet up on Henry’s unoccupied chair. “As far as reasons go, it’s a pretty good one.”

“It’s pretty gross.”

Emma folded her hands behind her head. “Deal with it, kid.”

Henry grabbed down a bag of flour to hide his irrepressible smile. “Are you gonna help me with this stuff or are you just gonna sit there?”

“You’re giving me a choice?” Emma barely caught the bowl Henry tossed at her head; swallowed her laughter as she threatened, “If you’re gonna throw things at me Henry, I’m gonna tell Regina you don’t deserve any waffles.”

“If you don’t help me set up, there won’t be any waffles. Think about that.”

Emma didn’t want to - she didn’t need that kind of negativity in her life. She pushed herself from her chair.

They bustled around the kitchen together - Emma and Henry two misplaced kids in a gumball machine right before the candy came out. It was new and it was fun. Henry lined-up all kinds of fruity-compote-whatevers on the marble counter, and even to a store-bought-syrup kind of girl, they were enticing. Emma could get used to this gourmet thing. It wasn’t like she’d ever enjoyed the taste of a tin can.

At some point, on a whim, Emma ventured out into Regina’s garden. She picked enough flowers to fill a vase she’d found under Regina’s sink-- Henry made fun of her then. But Emma didn’t care. Everything was coming up Regina and roses.

The rest, Emma forgot. She forgot about lunch and tension and all the bad things that could happen today, because they couldn’t touch her here. All she cared about was this crazy future they’d started, this perfect patchwork family that somehow fit together without seams. She thought about this kid and the woman upstairs and how she loved them both like fire. Emma thought about waffles.

She thought _a lot_ about waffles.

As the butter softened beside a cast-iron contraption, Emma put her feet back up on Henry’s abandoned stool. He bent against the counter, leant into her shoulder and explained the incomprehensible plotline of his favourite new comic book. Emma sipped fresh coffee with one arm slung around his waist, commented in all the appropriate places and Henry was happy. They both were.

This small section of family waited for Regina to join them.

It was going to be a very good day.

*

Regina sat rigidly at the end of her strictly-made bed, knees stiffly crossed, hands tight on the cashmere throw. In the mirror across from her was a woman exquisitely composed: crimson lips, darkly curved eyelashes and thickly drawn-on brows. She lifted her regal head, jaw jutted arrogantly and the reflection seemed almost real.

Regina felt rawly exposed.

Her angry collarbone showed at the edge of a pinned-bateau collar, skin irritated and red beneath the soft grey fabric of her dress. She’d scratched at it too hard after her shower, a fresh-sunburn itch that made no sense for the season. If pressed, Regina would blame Emma for the marks.

The woman in the mirror smiled lowly, sensuously; touched the thin black belt at her waist and leant back, archly confident. Regina almost believed her.

It was disconcerting, this dissonance between who she was and how she currently felt. Regina knew now it had little to do with her nightmare - the bad dream was a by-product; whatever went on beneath her ribs was the cause. Something strained and fizzed, her heart thumped loudly enough that she felt it in her calves, and Regina stretched her toes against it.

She smoothed capped sleeves over her bare arms and wondered again why she had chosen this outfit. She hadn’t in years, not since the night she stood frantic and terrified on her front porch waiting for Henry to come home, and had instead met a woman who was tall, blonde and uncouth.

_Emma Swan._

Regina had been so rankled by the Savior’s presence that night, so embittered after cider and tension and a similar burn beneath her ribs as the one she felt now, she had put the dress away like a bad omen, determined never to see it again.

But this morning she was drawn to the place in her wardrobe she had avoided for so long, to a time in her life never successfully forgotten. Regina felt an urgency about it, a reckless exhilaration she could not explain and when she’d slipped on the dress, it felt right.

The woman in the mirror smirked at her, a knowing glint in her eyes. She slid one red nail over tightly enclosed breasts, a dark eyebrow raised.

Earlier, when Emma’s hands pulled at Regina’s zipper, fingers dragged along her spine, mouth hot on her exposed shoulderblade, Regina had become a breath-bitten gasp, purred sensation.

It was a Pavlovian response. She had played out this scenario so many times in her head since that first meeting, used it when she was in bed alone at night and grasping for something, anything to take her over that edge -- It had always been a first-night Emma. The woman slunk from her red-leather jacket and slammed Regina against a wall, tugged the grey dress up over thighs and fucked her while she protested this wasn’t exactly what she wanted, _lied_ … Regina always came with Emma’s name in her shocked mouth, and always denied it to herself in the morning.

Regina had sent Emma away from the bedroom today with a growled irritation, physically pained by the promise of her skin and she didn’t know why. Emma hadn’t recognised the outfit, or hadn’t mentioned it, and Regina couldn’t fault her for that because it was just one grey dress she owned among many. There was simply a confluence here, a convergence between the pain in her chest and this flash from the past and Regina wasn’t sure what was going on, why any of it mattered or what exactly had changed.

Her reflection seemed to know. It narrowed smoky eyes at her.

Regina huffed, shook her head at how ludicrous this was - she wasted time here, let herself be caught up in something that would probably be the least problematic part of this day. Her chest ached, yes; but it was not the first time her heart had been an issue, nor would it likely be the last. They had fought each other like this her whole life.

And now, there was Emma.

Last night swept into Regina’s bones, the stripped-down sweetness, the nerve-jolt hold-on-I-have-you of it all and she would not let that be overshadowed. Emma Swan had her heart, and there was so much light in her that there was no room left for darkness. If Regina’s body had a problem with that, it was a temper tantrum she would wait out.

At that, she snapped back into place. Regina felt composed, no longer an ache inside a woman, now a woman with an ache that could be ignored. She smirked at her reflection, rolled dark eyes and the woman there agreed completely because they were same.

Regina rose easily from her bed, absently smoothed the creases from her comforter and then from her dress, flicked back her hair with light hands and closed the bedroom door as she left.

She had waffles to make.

*

A nutty bitterness wafted from the kitchen as Regina approached; Fleetwood Mac urged her to _believe in the ways of magic_ and she rolled her eyes, a wry grin on her mouth. She was focused on coffee, had heard the whine of the machine as she came down the stairs and knew it was Henry, because Emma’s method clearly involved a jug of boiled water and a handful of old coffee grounds. The woman was many things to her, but barista would never be one. Regina pushed happily through the door.

The scene inside hit her like a flare gun.

It shouldn’t have - Emma and Henry simply lolled against each other; Emma’s arm around his waist, bare feet up on a stool, Henry’s voice quietly exhilarated as he thumbed through his comic book -- But Regina’s chest caught fire, reignited the pain she’d put away just moments ago. It was the heart-squeezed ache of _How can this be my family?_ and _When did my home become so full?_

Regina’s eyes prickled and blurred and she clenched her jaw against it, one white-knuckled hand on her sternum. The door swung loudly behind her, and Henry whirled around.

“Mom!”

Regina smiled around her peripatetic heart, swiped the corner of one eye with the back of her hand but couldn’t say anything. Henry’s face shaded. “Mom? Are you okay?”

She nodded; cleared her throat then and clutched her chest dramatically, aimed for exaggeration because it was a target she could hit. “I’m just amazed. The kitchen is set up, it’s clean, _nothing is on fire_ \-- Are those _flowers_?”

“Yeah,” Henry scrunched his face. “You’re not funny.”

“Told you we should’ve broken something,” Emma muttered into her coffee, and Henry smirked back to her side.

Regina gathered herself as they turned away, took a moment just to _love_ them before she squeezed between them at the counter, kissed Henry’s cheek and the corner of Emma’s mouth. Emma’s arm slipped naturally around her hips and Henry pressed against her shoulder, and Regina stared at Henry’s comic book without really seeing anything -- For a moment, it was picture-perfect. Absolutely calm.

“I made coffee.”

_And somehow it got better._

“You wonderful boy.” Regina kissed Henry’s hair and slipped away. She lit the burner as she passed and set the oversized waffle iron on to heat.

“Emma picked you the flowers.”

“You s _nitch_.”

Regina smirked as she crossed to the coffee machine. “Did she now?”

“The kid’s crazy Regina, I dunno how they got there.”

Regina poured inky black liquid into a crisp white cup and made no comment. She turned against the bench, leant back with her coffee cradled in both hands, and all was right with the world.

“Feeling better?” Emma asked carefully, a slight goofiness to her smile.

Regina nodded. “Coffee makes _everything_ better.”

“Cheers to that,” Emma lifted her near-empty mug, though a discerning eye stayed on Regina’s skin.

Head tilted, Henry asked, “Are we meant to be getting dressed up today? I thought this was just lunch?”

“It is, kid,” Emma shrugged. “Wear whatever you want.”

“But Mom’s—” He waved his hand at Regina’s everything. “That’s an important dress.”

Regina choked on her coffee, covered her mouth and coughed into her hand and Emma stared at her, narrowed her eyes; blinked it away. “You know your Mom, kid - it’s always formal somewhere. Waffles?”

Henry perked up. “Seems like a good time.”

“It’s always a good time for waffles,” Emma grinned.

Regina just stood there as they stared at her expectantly. She sipped her coffee slowly, swallowed carefully around it this time and enjoyed her moment of control. She needed this, just a second of complete attention where she held all the cards, before her kitchen descended into chaos; a playfully predatory moment, all coiled muscle and swished tail.

Across the counter, Emma eyed Regina side-on. She licked her lips, an unconscious dart, the kind she made when she wasn’t sure about the energy in a room, wondered whether this was a fight or flight moment, a time for hard words or soft kisses - Regina played at something and she didn’t know what, but she waited. Henry glanced between his mothers’ expressions and sighed inwardly; went back to his comic book.

“I see Henry told you about our little _tradition_ ,” Regina drawled, and made no movement towards the counter or the ingredients that waited for her.

“Was it supposed to be a surprise?” Emma sprawled back in her seat and crossed her arms. “’Cause I feel like that’s a secret you guys’ve been keeping from me long enough.”

“A secret?” Regina pressed her smirk to the porcelain rim of her cup. “What secret is that, _Emma_?”

“C’mon Regina - waffles _every_ Sunday? Just you and Henry?” She muttered, “No one ever asked me if I wanted waffles.”

“It wasn’t a secret,” Regina shrugged. “It’s something we’ve always done.”

“Well, no one told me.”

Regina raised an arch eyebrow. “And why would we tell you that?”

“I dunno...” Emma stood suddenly, mug tight in her hand. “I probably would’ve come around a lot sooner if I knew there were waffles.”

“Perhaps I didn’t want you around.”

“Liar.” Emma slunk to the sink; dropped her mug and slung her hip against the bench next to Regina. “You love having me around.” She folded her arms. “I’m a delight.”

Regina scoffed into her coffee.

Emma’s arm snaked around Regina’s waist, tugged her back into the lazy curve of her body. “You’ve always wanted me around Regina,” Emma argued against her cheek. “You can’t help it. You love me.”

“ _Now_ , perhaps. But not always.” Regina sniffed haughtily at her. “You were quite the pain.”

Emma shook her head, a cocky grin. “You liked me anyway.” She knitted her fingers over Regina’s stomach, rested her chin on the brunette’s shoulder. “You were into me from the start.” She kissed thick waves of Regina’s hair. “You liked me when you wore that dress that first night...” Regina stiffened, and Emma whispered quietly into her ear, “I’m pretty sure you wanted me to tear it off you.”

Regina aspirated too-hot coffee - the burn in her lungs met the fire of her ribs and her spine melted against Emma’s chest. Emma nuzzled her hair with a grin but pushed for nothing, made no further comment and seemed happy just to hold her. Mouth dropped to Regina’s capped sleeve, Emma was an elongated kiss; and Regina knew it would last forever if she just stayed there. She wanted that.

_I would do this forever…_

Regina dropped one hand from her cup to Emma’s knitted knuckles, laced her fingers with them and relaxed into this easy embrace. Sunshine streamed through the window, crept across her skin; Emma’s heat soothed her back and Regina sipped her coffee with gentle languor.

Voices droned softly through the kitchen from the radio, the occasional flip of Henry’s pages marked the lazy movement of time and it seemed so quiet despite the barely-abated storm in Regina’s breast. Yet she basked in it, leant into the wind, into the lightness that felt almost heavy on muscles so new. Regina had never held something this bright for this long, only ever grasped for it at a distance and now her heart pumped blood a little harder, circulated in a rush to feed tendons and sinew and Regina thought maybe she could keep it this time. Maybe this would last forever.

_Or at least, until lunch._

“Are we actually gonna make waffles today?” Henry asked without raising his head. “Or are you guys just gonna stand there hugging?”

“Hugging,” Emma mumbled.

Regina smiled wryly. “Sunday Specials it is.”

She stepped from Emma’s grumbled arms and pulled her hair back, and Henry sprang from his chair like a switch had been hit. Emma watched their practiced precision with a bemused smile, butt perched on a bench - Henry retrieved an apron as Regina washed her hands, tied it around her waist like a surgical gown and handed every ingredient and utensil to her like this process was a life-saving thing.

These were very important waffles.

Emma’s position didn’t last long – she was ordered from the prep area when she refused to keep her hands to herself; poked Henry as he beat eggwhites, pulled Regina into her arms just to steal whipped cream -- Emma laughed her way to a stool while Henry glared at her, and Regina’s mouth twitched a treacherous smile. She made enough waffle batter to drown them both. It was an action she seriously contemplated when Henry finally lost focus, drawn by Emma’s teasing - hit his mark with an eggshell aimed at her head.

But by then the work was mostly done. Regina left the yeast to activate as she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee, and from the safety of the counter, she watched Emma roughhouse with their son and couldn’t remember why she’d ever fought this, ever denied Emma access to her heart or to their lives, ever battled against the noise and disorder and a kind of frivolity that rang on marble tiles and benches – It seemed so strange to want silence when love was so loud.

Even when Emma whirled Henry like a Catherine wheel and the butter container crashed to the floor, Regina simply raised an eyebrow at them, chuckled to herself because she did not care, not with these swollen ribs on a rhapsodic heart. It was a freedom she’d never felt before. It was good here.

Regina was _happy_.

They all ate too many waffles. Even Regina pushed into a second plate; Emma and Henry beside her fit to burst, hands over stomachs that for a short time, regretted everything. It was worth it.

“I hope you don’t think you’re allowed to skip lunch,” Regina warned, and delicately spooned raspberry compote onto lightly whipped cream. “I’m sure Mary Margaret has prepared… _something_ for us today.”

Emma shifted uncomfortably, but Henry shook his head. “Nope, we’ll be hungry by then.”

“Or we could just not go,” Emma mumbled.

Two set of eyes narrowed on her; Regina paused with a forkful of waffle on her lips.

“Seriously guys,” Emma announced, “I’m thirsty - let’s go to Atlanta.”

Regina rolled her eyes at the blonde and ate her food. Henry twitched at Emma’s side, an unhappy slant to his mouth.

“Whaddaya say kid - we could try all the different Cokes? And if we leave now we could get there just in time to not be at my parent’s loft this afternoon...”

“But I want to be there,” Henry gruffed, and prodded his leftovers with a disgruntled fork. “I thought I made that clear...” His cutlery clattered then, and Henry threw himself sideways in his chair to face Emma. “I want my grandparents to know my Moms are together; I want everyone to know that! I want us to be a family, _all_ of us - why don’t you want that?”

Emma’s eyes flickered to Regina, but the brunette refused to back her up, simply raised both eyebrows and ate daintily the last of her waffle.

Emma glared; sighed back to Henry. “It’s not that I don’t want that kid, I do, it’s just… I guess I kinda like what we have here right now.” Emma reached for his stiffened shoulder, squeezed it. “I just wanted it to stay like this for a little while, just the three of us, y’know? I kinda like that.”

Henry glared daggers – but slowly softened under Emma’s sincerity and eventually sighed, a forceful exhale that ruffled his hair. “Yeah, I like it too.” Hazel eyes pinned Emma then, and he added, “I love you, Mom -- But we’re going today.” Henry pushed up from the counter, leant over and kissed Regina’s full cheek. “I’m gonna get dressed.”

She nodded, chewed through a smile as Henry carried his plate to the sink and then jogged from the kitchen.

Emma sank lower in her stool, arms roughly crossed. “Your kid’s a pain in the ass, Regina.”

Regina gave a wry smirk. “I believe he gets that from you.”

“No way I taught him to be that responsible.”

Regina placed her cutlery together on her finished plate. She turned to Emma, and melted-chocolate swirled over the blonde’s surliness, soothed it. “But you did teach him about family.” Regina kissed Emma’s cheek as she rose, gathered up their plates. “Our son takes that very seriously - and so do you.”

Emma muttered curses under her breath, but didn’t argue because it was true -- Family meant everything to Emma because she knew what it was like not to have one. In her own way, so did Regina. A lot rode on today for both of them because in this small town, family wasn’t kept separate, not anymore, not since the Curse had broken. Today would be the fallout of that, as much as the reward. It needed to be dealt with.

Regina rinsed their plates quietly, stacked the dishwasher and Emma approached from behind, dropped cooking bowls over Regina’s shoulder into the sink. She wrapped her arms around Regina’s waist; an apology and sulk and sweetness in one lanky form. Regina chuckled silently to herself.

“I haven’t seen this dress for a while,” Emma murmured against Regina’s ear, cheek to her ponytail.

Regina nodded, and leant her hands on the edge of the sink. “No, you haven’t.”

“What’s the occasion? Something I should know about?”

Regina still didn’t have an answer for that, still wasn’t sure why this outfit now, still didn’t know how to explain the oscillation in her chest between ache and effervescence. Instead, she turned in Emma’s arms, nodded across her shoulder to the rose-filled mini-bouquet on the counter. “I could ask you the same thing - feeling romantic, were we?”

Emma blew it off. “I dunno about _that_ , I mean, I could throw them out if you don’t want them...”

Regina quirked her brow, mildly amused by Emma’s discomfort. “And waste my good flowers? I don’t think so.” She kissed Emma then, slowly; and Emma’s arms tightened around her, pulled Regina against her body. Regina rested her forehead against Emma’s when they broke for breath. “They are beautiful, thank you.”

Emma shrugged. “Hey you grew ‘em.” She fidgeted, then added, “And you’re welcome. It was kinda the least I could do.”

Regina raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Well, you made breakfast,” Emma said. “And dinner, and snacks, and my kid happy; and my body _really_ happy, and my life just so, fucking, _good_.”

Regina’s laughter rumbled, a heedless sound interrupted by Emma’s lips on her cheek, her jaw, the joyful curve of her throat as it spilled from her, and Emma chuckled against her collarbone, Regina’s arms tight around her neck. “I love you, Regina.”

The words buzzed on Regina’s skin, filled her with both fire and salve and she kissed Emma again, a spark in this electrified embrace. “I love you too.”

Emma grinned, mouth ridiculous and askew and stepped away to finish clearing dishes. “So - are you ready for today?”

“Hardly,” Regina breathed. “Spending the day with Snow White and Prince Charming while they evaluate my acceptability to date their daughter isn’t something I ever expected to do.”

Emma shrugged. “Y’know I’ll back you up if you just wanna say _fuck it_ …”

“I’m sure you would,” Regina intoned drily. Wickedness came then, a dark smile that grew on blood-red lips, a sinister curve to her arch brow -- “But I don’t want to miss an opportunity to make Mary Margaret feel uncomfortable in her own home.”  

Emma ran her hand over the curve of Regina’s ass. “Does this mean I’m allowed to grope you at lunch?”

“Only if you plan on losing a hand.”

“ _Pffft_ \- you love my hands.” Emma smirked, “No way would you deprive yourself of that.”

Regina folded her arms, jutted her hip. “Who says I’d be the one to cut them off?”

And she had a point, because Mary Margaret and Henry were the most likely contenders, followed closely by Emma’s father - and Emma scrunched her face, gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Kid-rated lunch, with probable adult language.”

Emma kicked bare toes against the base of the kitchen counter - and suddenly her shoulders hunched, body seemed thinner, more of a wind-bent reed than the sturdy woman she was. It was fear that stooped her, a palpable anxiety, and it drew Regina to her side.

Regina threaded her fingers into the open fabric of Emma’s borrowed shirt at her jeans, nails traced loosely on her skin. “We’ll be fine.”

Emma shook her head, small and curt. “You don’t believe that.”

“No,” Regina conceded with a small, rueful smile. “But…. I do have _hope_.”

Emma stared, disbelief warred with a knee-jerk reaction to mock Regina for the admission—But Regina stood without guile, without artifice, actually _revelled_ in what she’d said; and Emma shook her head slowly, a dawn-break smile. Regina knew they both wanted to believe there was hope because they felt it, a crackle and fizz of optimism in formerly stagnant pools of resignation, suddenly brought to life.

Regina kissed Emma with a smile so broad their teeth clacked; it had become a thing they needed to learn - how to kiss through all this happiness. They would in time.

_We have forever..._

Emma left Regina then to finish getting dressed. As Regina pulled down her hair, smoothed apron lines from her grey dress, fixed crimson lipstick smudged by Emma’s mouth, her skin still burnt, heart felt too big to contain but Regina was ready.

She had already waited too long to start forever.

Today was the day.

*****

 

**Glad you came back? Please let me know. And thanks to those of you who insisted I keep going - I heard it.**

 


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